The Devil Goes To School
by Gevar
Summary: A high school girl is dead. Chloe suspects foul play. Lucifer is in the wrong time, wrong place. - High School AU.
1. The LUX Club

The white paper sheet glares at her. The stationary cursor flickers, mocking her to write something. Anything. But her mind's blank. Much like the wordless document reflecting her frown back at Chloe Decker.

"You've been starting at that screen for half an hour," Ella Lopez quips, "Without blinking."

"I know," Chloe retorts, "I'll keep staring until I write some goddamn words on it."

"Maybe you should take a break," Ella suggests, her fingers clacking on the keyboard. With rapid clicks. Chloe's instantly jealous.

"I already had many breaks," Chloe sighs, yawns into her hand. She jabs her forefinger against her laptop's monitor. "Still nothing."

Ella twists her chair so she's staring at Chloe, eyes the laptop briefly. "Nobody reads the school's paper," Ella points out and amends, "except the Drama Club."

"We still have the obligation to write and inform the students something informative."

"Something _informative_?" Ella lets out this loud, air-choking laugh. "Chloe, I write about _Klingons_ for the school's newspaper."

"Dan already submitted his piece," Chloe groans, ignoring Ella's words, sinking lower into her chair. Maybe she'll melt in her chair and her article will write itself tomorrow.

Ella rolls her eyes. "Dan is in charge of the weather forecast. Of course, he has something to write about every day," Ella gets to her feet, powers the computer down. "When was the last time you go out and have some fun?"

"I'm having the time of my life when I'm writing. I'm writing now."

Ella slides next to Chloe's desk. Hands crossed over her chest. Her dark eyes are impossibly huge, sparkling even. Her saccharine smile is enough to melt even the toughest, meanest student at Vertigo High. "No, you're not. You look constipated," comes out more like a compliment than a riposte.

"Do not," Chloe protests, sneaks a glance at her reflection on the laptop's screen. Nothing to indicate that her profile's haggard and _constipated_ as Ella claims. She leans back into her seat, steepling her hands underneath her chin. She closes her eyes.

"Come with me to LUX," Ella announces, makes a sudden grab for Chloe's laptop. She expertly closes all the twenty tabs Chloe had in a matter of seconds. Shuts the laptop down, Ella places the laptop back into Chloe's backpack.

She lets out a sigh of disgust. "Is that a gym? I hate exercising." Chloe opens one eye, gazing at Ella.

"We're not going to exercise," Ella counters, clasping Chloe's hands and yanks her up from the chair with relative ease. Surprising Chloe with her strength. Considering Ella's petite, at five-two than Chloe who stands at a good height of five-seven. "Maybe lose a sweat or two. But it's less torturing than exercising."

"Ella, please don't tell me we're going to a club." Chloe "The last time I check, we're _sixteen_ and _looked_ sixteen," she says, hands on her hips for emphasis. "Not to mention, my dad's a cop. He's going to kill me after I rot in jail."

"Oh, right. You're new," Ella says, slapping her palm against her forehead. "Relax, it's not a real club. It's the LUX Club." Ella hooks her arm around Chloe's, drags her away towards the door.

Chloe shoots an alarmed stare at Ella, "The _what_ club?"

Ella waves her hand dismissively. Her other hand gripping Chloe's upper arm tightly. "Don't overthink it. It's legal for minors. The school sanctioned club. The club organised a few meetings in the gym every week. All students are welcomed to join. Who knows maybe you'll get some idea from the LUX?"

"Alright," Chloe concedes, "But I'm going home early."

* * *

Chloe Decker can't say for sure, if this is really the gym. Sure, she recognises the bleachers. Usually empty on normal days, because sports isn't Vertigo High's strongest suit, now filled with teens lounging around. Sprawled from one end to the other, only teenagers—her fellow students. No teachers in sight.

The music is deafening, as electronic beats ripple throughout the floor from the corners of the gym. Chloe catches some verses spoken in not-English. Not so much as spoken, but guttural growling of musical verses. Sounds gibberish to Chloe's ears, yet everyone finds nothing wrong with the music selection. Dancing away like they're in a club. Just a few drinks away from what Chloe classified as 'high as a kite' condition.

The lights are dizzyingly colourful on the gym's court floor. Bodies squashed together on the dance floor, transferring slick sweat and other bodily fluids Chloe doesn't spend her time speculating between exposed skins. Hardly leaving any space for anyone to move around properly. Without being fondled or touched.

The refreshment table is located nearby the stage. Bottles, empty and full, piling up on the table sky high. Inside each bottle, liquid sloshing around due to the music's boisterous soundwaves. Tawny-coloured liquid. Like the colour of whiskey, bourbon and scotch. Booze.

Somewhere between the dance floor and the refreshment table, Chloe swears she'd seen a boy, shirtless and horns protruding from his temples, running passed by her. She blinks twice. No horns, but still shirtless. It must be just her imagination. Ella returns with two red plastic cups, thrusts one to Chloe.

Chloe sniffs it once. Smells harmless enough. But John Decker taught her to be suspicious of any drinks in a wild party. Even if that drink comes from sweet and church-going Ella.

"That's just soda," Ella chimes in, noticing Chloe's apprehension towards the red cup. "Don't worry, the LUX Club guarantees all their parties are illegal substances-free. No booze, drugs or any form of alcohol," Ella reassures, sipping from her cup. "This is a clean club."

Chloe casts a sweeping gaze around the gym. The stench of wild, probably unprotected sex hangs in the air, thick that one could choke on it. Mingled in that stench is a scent Chloe can't put a name to. But it smells terribly awful, Chloe almost gag. Clean club, this ain't it. And Ella's right. Chloe Decker might find her story in this gym after all.

"What is this place?"

"It's the gym," Ella replies, and adds a soft 'duh'.

"I know this is a gym but—" Chloe's next word dies on her lips, as she ducks. A stray shoe—no, three inch stiletto—flying through the air, close to taking Chloe's right eye out.

"The club's dedicated to having a good, fun time," Ella comments, like it's supposed to answer all Chloe's unasked questions. It doesn't.

"Oh," Ella says, suddenly draining her cup empty. She crushes the cup and tosses it into the bin. "It's about to start," she mutters, grasping Chloe's wrist. Her free hand motioning at the stage.

"What's about to start?" Chloe asks, as they fight their way through the packed dance floor to the stage. A singular black baby grand piano rests on the stage, centre-wise. The baby grand isn't big, but its mere presence feels like it takes up the entire stage. Standing next to the baby grand is a sharply dressed teen.

"Who's that?" Chloe whispers, because the music stops without a warning. Despite the fact the gym's filled with chatty teenagers, the gym's deathly silent for more than a few seconds. And she finds this a little creepy.

"That's Lucifer Morningstar. President of the LUX Club," Ella murmurs. "The concept of LUX is _his_ brainchild."

"As in the devil? Like that's really his name," Chloe retorts, incredulous shining in her tone. She regards the teen on stage briefly, taking note of his black tux customised to fit his form like a glove. She can't quite make out this Morningstar kid's profile. She figures he'd be one good looking kid, from the expressions of his audiences.

"Uh huh," Ella's head bobs up and down, "like the devil himself."

"Who names their kid after the devil?"

Ella shrugs, keeps her eyes on the stage. "Olivia thinks his parents were either some part of a satanic cult or just hippies."

Chloe's mouth is half-open when Ella shoves a finger to her lips, "Hush. He's going to play the piano soon. He rarely performs, but I heard he's wickedly fantastic with the piano. One could say he plays it like he's being possessed by some music-lovin' demon."

"R-right," Chloe says, tearing her gaze away from the stage to the dance floor. With all eyes on him, no one won't pay attention if she disappears to the 'toilet'. Her dad always said 'stranger things has happened in the toilet more than he could count on four fingers'—and maybe that's not the way his metaphor ends, but it fits the occasion.

If she looks hard enough, there's a story somewhere waiting to be written. Chloe just has to discover it first.


	2. Who Killed Delilah McCord?

Two days later, Delilah McCord is dead. On the front steps of the gymnasium. She's dressed in white blouse, plaid skirt, knee-high socks and black shoes. Forty-eight hours went by and the investigation closed, a tragic case of accidental overdose.

Vertigo High mourns for the life lost. But there's no grand funeral. No eulogy, even by her family. Delilah McCord is a name that will disappear from their lips in a few months.

She's just another reminder of a young life cut short by her stupid mistake. The thing is, Chloe doesn't buy that last sentence for one second.

* * *

The thing that Chloe Decker remembers the most about Delilah McCord was her red-stained lip curving into the softest and most fractured smile she'd seen on a girl.

Chloe only seen Delilah a couple of times, across the school's hallways. Never alone, that Delilah. Always with her boyfriend and his friends. They're every bit of the jock stereotypes from the labels they wear up to the expensive cars they drive to school. Delilah herself fitted into the clichéd popular cheerleader archetype on appearance alone. Nice pair of rack, gorgeous curly blonde hair that seems to shine butterscotch under the sun and curves that Chloe envied.

But there's a different Delilah hiding beneath that flirty wink and carefree attitude. Secrets etched on her skin, invisible, like battered bruises of some sort. Chloe didn't figure it out until it's too late. Sometimes she wished she had noticed it earlier.

Chloe had seen _that_ Delilah once. In the gymnasium's broom closet, of all the places. It's not exactly a broom closet, but along the lines of a space with a desk and an armchair. So, a cramped office in other sense.

Delilah sat on the chair, spine straight as a rod. A chewed pencil sticking out from behind her ear. Her blonde locks bind loosely into a bun. Books splayed open across the desk; each one was thick as a cereal box. Her lips twisting into a smile so child-like, which clashed against the revealing dress clinging to every inch of Delilah's curves.

"I take it that there's no toilet here?" Chloe asked, the end of her lips quirked upwards sheepishly.

"Nope, the toilet's at the end of the corridor," replied Delilah, directing the pencil's bud at the door.

"Ah, thanks." Chloe surveyed the room. If she was a drug-dealing teenager, where would she stashed it? The room was bare, saved for that desk and the chair. No cabinets. No shelves. Not even a tacky painting to mask the hiding spot.

"There's no drugs here. If that's what you're after. Not in LUX Club," Delilah piped up, returning her gaze to her books. But a knowing smile played on her lips, brief. And a second later, gone.

"I-I, what makes you think I'm looking for drugs?" Chloe stammered, grateful Delilah isn't paying much attention. Chloe's a fantastic liar, if she had prepared for it. Clearly, she didn't expect to be caught way ahead.

She chuckled. Propped her elbows on the desk, she set her chin on her clasped hands. "You're not the first person to try to break into the office."

Chloe lifted her brows at Delilah, "I was that obvious?"

"Not really, but you're in the Journalism Club, right? He had a few of those poking around before you came along," she laughed, not malicious in any way. But amused. "It's nothing new for him," her voice trailed off, Delilah pursed her lipstick-stained mouth, lost in thought. Her fingers drummed against the table.

Chloe walked closer to the desk. Enough to being able to read several paragraphs of the book Delilah's on. Maurizio Calvesi's Caravaggio. "Well, I'm in the Journalism Club. But I'm not looking for a scoop," Chloe smoothly countered. Lies. "I'm trying to get some for a friend." More lies.

Delilah shook her head softly. "I can't help you. I don't use that crap, need my brain at full capacity. Kevin is a different story, though."

Damn. There went Chloe's hope into the drain of dashed dreams. Kevin wasn't one to talk to Chloe. Even if Chloe twirled her hair and batted her eyelashes, Kevin's pretty solid as boyfriends go—or so Ella said. Now, she got nothing to write about.

"Thanks," Chloe replied, cracking the door wide open. Well, she stretched it as slowly as she can, "I guess I'll have to find it elsewhere."

"Wait," Delilah called out, stopping Chloe. Delilah massaged her temple once. Inhaled a large breath before exhaling deeply. "If you desperately want it, Kevin could help you score some," Delilah offered. This time, her smile doesn't quite reach up to her blue eyes.

Chloe pivoted on her heels so fast, she nearly smacked her face against the door. The end of her mouth curling into a smile. "You'll help me?"

"Kevin told me that sometimes people tampered their products. Adding things so that they could make more profit. I don't want your friend to buy altered drugs that could kill them," the concern in her voice was genuine. Delilah flipped a page on her notepad. A finger tapping against the notepad. "Your number." Held out the pen for Chloe. "And weight."

She's strangely touched by her concern—not too many kids willing to risk involvement at the cost of their potential prison life. Chloe scribbled her number on the page. Pushed the notepad back to Delilah. She questioned, "When can my friend get it?"

"Kevin doesn't sell to strangers. Only to his friends. I'll see what I can do. I promised it won't take more than three days. Meet me again at school. The girl's locker. I'll text you the time," she answered, tore the paper off from notepad and slipped it into her purse.

That was the first time Chloe spoke to her. And the last.

Honestly, this was why Chloe Decker doesn't— _can't_ —accept the overdose verdict. Delilah McCord still had hope. Hope for a brighter future. Hope in herself that she will make something for herself. Those blue eyes of hers that held fierce determination to succeed. Someone snuffed her life. Not her own doing.

Now, Chloe Decker has a new story that needed to be told. Who killed Delilah McCord?


	3. Suspect Lucifer Morningstar

A week later, more stories about Delilah McCord emerged. Stories painted her as a troubled kid. A wild child. A girl who likes to fun. _Too_ much fun. Some are fabricated, Chloe checked. And some, just heartbreakingly true. Stories that reinforced—maybe justified—Delilah's overdose.

She pushes those thoughts away. She's not going to set a judgement on Delilah's character. Chloe Decker is here to catch a killer.

Chloe consults her 'to do' checklist. First agenda, retracing Delilah's last moments. She already had some clues, thanks to her dad's notepad. Yes, she knows those notepads are off-limits. Delilah's death isn't an ongoing investigation, and Chloe hasn't break any rules per say. Besides what her father doesn't know, won't hurt him.

She runs a finger down the suspect list. Not many names. About two. Her boyfriend, Kevin Gonzalez. He's cleared, having a tight alibi—not being in town for the weekends. Next, her step-dad. He's cleared too, watching a movie that night.

No witnesses. So, no one had seen if Delilah was high the entire time. Time of death is a little unclear.

After going through those notes, she keeps circling back to LUX. Where Delilah was found. She spent most of her time in LUX, never on the dance floor but that tiny broom closet they dubbed the office. Balancing the club's expenditures, if Kevin's words is to be believed. This makes Delilah well-acquainted with the inner workings of LUX Club.

Just because Chloe didn't find any drugs the first time, it doesn't mean there isn't any. Maybe Delilah found something in LUX worth killing for.

Her dad never listed Lucifer Morningstar as a suspect. Chloe isn't going to make that mistake.

* * *

The gymnasium looked a whole lot different in the morning. The coppery rust from the roof bleeds into the faded white paint on the walls. Hedges around the gym's compound are withering yellow and overgrown. The windows are cracked, and stained with bird poop.

It's almost unassuming, really. Chloe would never guess that it's a den of immoral activities for minors by night fall. Surprisingly fortified for a run-down gym building.

With Delilah's death, the LUX Club postponed all of their meetings until further notice. So, there goes her chance to snoop around the office. But Chloe has one last trick to pull. Hope to God, her father never finds out.

She tried to break into LUX twice. Failed both times that Chloe resorted to stalking from the dense hedges. It's been roughly four hours and she hasn't seen anyone yet in LUX. No suspicious activity. Or any kind of activity to be frank.

She squeezes herself in between the hedges, in the name of blending in the background. It's bad enough the hedges are wildly untrimmed, poking her ass. She hasn't eat since she started her stakeout. She pokes her head above the hedges, scanning her surroundings.

Keys rattling. Footsteps grow louder. Someone's here. At gym. Finally, she's getting somewhere. Chloe ducks down, presses herself against the ground. Tells herself to lose the heavy breathing. Or risk getting caught.

"You could have just knock the door, Mazikeen would invite you in for a cup of tea," says a deep voice, smooth like lava sliding off molten rocks that renders Chloe mute. For five seconds. Maybe, fifteen. Okay, twenty seconds.

Still crouching on all four, she twists her neck, to gain a better look at the speaker. Shiny black Giorgio Armani shoes greet her first. Then, crisp dark navy blue pants that clings to a pair of long legs. Next, freshly pressed blazer that hangs on a wiry body.

It's her suspect. Lucifer Morningstar. His lips twisting into an eloquent smirk. Sunlight bouncing off his golden-red hair, giving it a crown of glowing halo effect around his head.

Chloe draws to her full height—which isn't much in light of Lucifer's taller frame. Gathering what's left of her dignity, she clears her throat. Ignores a twig or two sticking in her hair. Stares into his intelligent blue eyes. Not the kind of blue that reminds her of the skies or the ocean. The intensity of his gaze and his blue eyes—strikes Chloe as the fiery flames blazing electric blue.

Chloe has to admit that up close, he's beautiful. There's an angelic quality to his looks. Almost blindly distracting. Chloe shakes her head, trying to regain her fleeting self-respect and say something. Something authority-like. Something that would make Lucifer take her seriously. Something like—

"You got nice _shiny_ shoes," is all she manages. The next few words come out as a string on incoherent mumbling. Chloe clams her mouth shut. Wishing the ground to swallow her up.

"They are, I had them shined this morning."

"Chloe Decker, Journalism Club," she tries again, projecting confidence and professionalism.

He arches a dark brow, with poise and elegance of a gentleman. "Journalism Club? Sounds more like you'd be fitting for a homicide detective with that tone," Lucifer scoffs, in his clipped British accent.

"Well, my dad's the detective. There isn't any club that remotely resembles the police force," Chloe catches herself before she went on the story of her life. _Focus._ "But I'm not here to talk about myself."

The door to the gymnasium parts open, revealing a waif-like girl standing. Waiting for them. The girl trains her eyes on Lucifer, barely acknowledging Chloe. "Would you like to take your affairs inside, Lucifer?" Her voice is raspy, with a slight snake's hiss coiling around her words. Several continents melded together in her accent, too foreign that Chloe can't place her anywhere in the map.

Lucifer glances at Mazikeen and his smirk softens to an amused smile. "Yes, I do, Mazikeen. Would you be kind to prepare some refreshment for our guest? I suspect that she wouldn't leave until she gets her answers."

"Yes, m-Lucifer," replies Mazikeen, disappearing into the gym.

Lucifer opens his strides—wide, casual and arrogant—entering the gym. Chloe jogs after him, the boy has long legs. Together, they end up at the stage. Lucifer takes a seat on the piano seat. Chloe's stiff as a tree stump, eyeing the baby grand piano.

"Do enlighten us the reason behind your visit?" Lucifer asks, playing some jaunty tune Chloe never heard of. Mazikeen joins them, hands Chloe a chilled soda and a glass of blue-liquid to Lucifer. Then takes her place beside him. She hardly speaks, her face bears no expression and yet her eyes are concentrated on Chloe now.

Chloe forges on, keeps the trembling out from her voice. Thinks back to Delilah and her hopeful eyes. Chloe utters, "Delilah McCord."

Nonchalance slipping into his monotonous reply, "Tragic death. What about it?" His posture is formal, like one who practiced the art of performing the piano, and at the same time slacking without tension. If there's any tension reacting to her question, it's not Lucifer. It's Mazikeen.

"Rumour has it that she did the budgeting for your club."

"Not a rumour. Delilah had proved to be an asset in managing the club's funds." He's staring at her. His eyes are disturbingly empty, yet the jovial grin remains. It sends chills down Chloe's spine, burns the flesh beneath her skin that she's sweating profusely.

"That means she spent a lot of time hanging around LUX. With bookkeeping duties, she must have seen more than she bargained for."

Lucifer pulls the shutter over the piano keys, propping one arm over the baby grand's cover. Tosses a lazy glance at Chloe. "And what would that be? What had she witnessed that necessitated her death?"

Chloe shrugs, "I don't know." She cracks her notepad open, runs her fingers over the highlighted words. "Drugs. Booze. Orgy."

He exchanges a secretive look with Mazikeen, then turns to face Chloe. His smirk grows impossibly wider, impish even. "You think that I killed her because I supplied alcoholic beverages, drugs and sex to the other students?"

"Unprotected wild sex," Chloe automatically corrects. Not the words she's supposed to say out loud. She has no qualms with sex between students—it's just better to play safe than sorry. "People have killed for less."

"What are your thoughts on the subject, Mazikeen?" he quizzes, tilting his head sideways. There's something in those eyes of his. They're not empty now. Adoration playing in his irises.

Mazikeen rolls her greyish eyes—it seems to Chloe, only the right eye moves. Each word that leaves Mazikeen's lips is tainted with a snarling lisp. "That statement holds some merit. However, LUX Club doesn't indulge in those kind of illegal substances. She attended a meeting. She should know we only served soda."

Chloe strains to catch Mazikeen's words properly. Her forehead creasing, she leans closer to Mazikeen's lips—Mazikeen takes a step backwards. Chloe shifts her sight from Mazikeen to Lucifer, arching a brow at him. "The fact that I saw the LUX in its finest, means I don't believe your club is clean as you claimed it is."

"I don't make claims. It is the truth," he says, sipping his drink. He has lovely feathered eyelashes, enhancing his androgynous look. Not that Chloe's into that, she likes traditional boys. Like her dad.

"Then you don't mind me looking through those records myself?"

"You're welcome to help yourself to LUX's expenditure records," Lucifer motions at Mazikeen to lead the way. "Maybe you'll find your elusive killer. Perhaps you won't. Either way, it'd be a delight to see your conviction challenged."

* * *

[AN] I'm aware Lucifer Morningstar and Mazikeen doesn't match up with FOX's version. I tried to write the comic versions. Because why not? At the same time, I'm not even sure if I catch the comic versions' essence correctly.


	4. The LUX Connection

Turns out that LUX is absolutely clean. No funny numbers. No secret bribes to teachers. No suspicious purchases. Though she wonders why LUX spent a fortune buying crappy music albums.

Her one solid lead is nothing but one teenager with skewed priorities in life.

Chloe flings her notepad against her bed. Goes to stand in front of her 'mystery board'. Delilah's picture tacked in the middle, surrounded by three badly taken photos of Kevin, the LUX and Lucifer. She crosses out the word 'weird accounting' off from the board.

Lucifer Morningstar. His crime seemed to be his conceited and hot-looking ass. There's nothing much she could gather from Mazikeen, except Mazikeen has speech impediment. Perhaps, a tad too protective of Lucifer.

"Who killed you, Delilah?"

For a popular girl, she doesn't have much friends. Outside of Kevin, there are only classmates who barely knew her beyond her name. And yet she's almost a permanent fixed in the LUX.

Chloe flops onto her bed, going through her notes one last time. For all her pretty looks, Delilah's not part of the cheerleading squad. Or any club, aside from the LUX Club. The list on Delilah's acquaintances doesn't provide much help than the suspect list.

See, the LUX connection again. Despite all the evidences she'd seen—she went through those expenditure records alone for five hours and Delilah's meticulous as hell—LUX has no motive to kill Delilah. In fact they needed her more than she needed them.

A yawn or three escapes from her mouth. Chloe rubs her eyes. She needs a fresh set of new eyes. Maybe Ella can help. The school paper has enough Klingon material to digest. They could afford to push back Ella's masterpiece, the Klingons' convoluted forehead history, for another couple of weeks.

* * *

During lunch, Chloe recaps her encounter with Lucifer Morningstar to a tentatively-listening Ella. "So, what do you think?" Chloe asks, as she finishes her diagram on Delilah's murder.

Ella gazes down at the diagram, biting her under-lip. "So, Lucifer is no longer your suspect?"

Chloe nods, taking a large bite out of her hotdog. "But everything revolves around LUX."

"Maybe it's not the club," Ella suggests, and Chloe almost choke on her hotdog. "Maybe, it's someone connected to Delilah. Nothing to do with the club at all," Ella explains.

"Were you listening to my story at all?"

Ella holds a hand up, "Listen, you said Lucifer has no motive to kill Delilah," she pauses, points her chin at Kevin's direction, "How about Kevin?"

Chloe shakes her head lightly, "Kevin? He loved Delilah. I remembered my dad told me he passed out when he heard the news of Delilah's death. He got a solid alibi to boot."

Ella dips a French fry into ketchup, munching. "True, he's a douchebag. But he doesn't looked like he could kill. Didn't you say that he's dealing drugs?"

"Yeah. It's Delilah's words. I don't have proof that he's dealing them." Chloe finishes her burger, folding the burger wrapper into small piece. Then quenches her thirst with her coke.

Ella raises an eyebrow, "Then find some proof."

"Easier said than done. He doesn't deal to strangers, apparently. Something that Delilah told me before she died," Chloe says, sliding her notebook into her bag.

Ella frowns. "It's too bad. Where was the deal going to take place? The LUX?"

"No, the girl's locker."

"Not the LUX then. Imagine if Kevin sells at LUX," Ella trails off, her mouth hangs slightly open. Her head cocking at an awkward angle. Her dark eyes has that focused look. The one that she has when someone hot catches her fancy.

Chloe snaps her fingers in front of Ella. No response. Yup, she's lost in her own devouring hottie world. Chloe tosses a look over her shoulder. What could possibly make Ella lost interest in the middle of their stimulating conversation?

Speak of the kid with the devil's name and he appears. Not appear out of nowhere, like he's the devil. Because he's not _the_ devil. Because that's _ridiculous_. Chloe's a sceptic, raised agnostic by her father. Lucifer Morningstar, just a kid with a trust fund to back up his lavish lifestyle.

Lucifer Morningstar, who fit in more with preppy students than in Vertigo High, strolls into the cafeteria. All decked in tailored suit. Who wears _suit_ to school? Barely has he glanced at them. Like the rest of them are beneath the grime of his black shiny shoes.

Except Mazikeen.

Mazikeen kinda shares the same contempt look—even though her face is a vacant mask. And her grey eyes—eye, more likely—equally hollow, except when she's staring at Lucifer. It's the look that Chloe equates to unflinching admiration. Or passionate obsession. Or both.

It's when Lucifer and Mazikeen exit the cafeteria, most of the cafeteria returns to normal and Ella resumes being functional Ella. "So, what were we talking about?" Ella asks, returning her sight on her lunch. Much of her plate's contents are nearly finished. Saved for the apple.

Chloe scan the cafeteria for the two—just to be sure. Nope, they've left the cafeteria. She leans close to Ella, half-whispering, "What's the deal between Mazikeen and Morningstar?"

"Mazikeen Smith? Oh, she's like the Vice President of the LUX, I think. Super loyal to Lucifer. I'm banking my bet on secret bodyguard sent to keep an eye on him. I mean, the way she seemed to be with him like twenty-four seven."

"Don't you find her strange?"

"Define strange. We got tons of students with questionable fashion choices, life choices or both. Mazikeen isn't one of them," Ella says, taking a last bite out of the apple.

Chloe shrugs. "Can't put my finger on it. Something about her feels unnatural," she says, motioning vaguely around her own face.

"Car accident. Left side of her face is paralysed, or something," Ella answers, gathering her tray. "So, what's your next move?"

Chloe gets to her feet, picks up her tray. "I think I got an idea. I'll need your help," Chloe says, grinning. They make their way towards the tray station.

It's about four steps forward, when Ella suddenly stops in her tracks. Presses her lips into a thin line, she arches her brow and says, "Why do I get the feeling it's going to blow up in our faces?"

"It won't," Chloe reassures. _Hopefully._


	5. Two Investigations, One Team

Chloe inclines her body against the dashboard, squinting against the glare in the distance. She's perched on the edge of her passenger's seat. Cupping both hands over her eyes. She sees nothing.

Next to Chloe, Ella opens her mouth, then shuts it close and opens it again. For a full minute, the car is silent. Her forehead all creased, her huge eyes narrowing at Chloe. "So you were working on a hunch?"

"A well-educated hunch," Chloe assures. She gazes at her notebook once more. Just to make sure she copied off the right address. So far, she spots Kevin's sedan at the driveway. Definitely the right place.

"What if he didn't believe our lies about Kevin distributing drugs in LUX?" Ella demands, her pitch increases an octave higher, and folds her arms over her stomach.

"He has to do something about it. Rumours will fly and this school's a little touchy on drugs and alcohol. They already have a bad record. Another strike on the drug front and the school district administration is going to close Vertigo High down."

"What if your hunch fails?" Ella argues, her doe-like eyes alarmingly widens and suddenly grasping Chloe's forearm tightly than she might have cut the blood supply in Chloe's arm.

"Then we go for Plan B," Chloe says, looking at Ella with a confident smile. Attempts to yank her arm from Ella's iron grip and fails.

"Plan B?"

Chloe curtly nods, "Yes, Plan B."

"And what does Plan B entails?" Ella quizzes, gulping her saliva.

Chloe gestures at Ella absentmindedly, "To send you to seduce Kevin."

Her mouth forms an 'O' shape. "Wait, _what_?" Ella gasps as the realisation sinks in and settles on her face. Ella stutters, hands flying to her chest. " _Me_? Why _me_? You know Kevin's a one girl guy."

"I know, but you're the sweetest girl I know in school. You might not even need to seduce him, just offer a shoulder for him to cry on and ask about his drug activities," Chloe mutters, gazing at the neat row of houses in front of them. "It's either you or Dan. Dan isn't Kevin's type."

Ella looks at Chloe, as if Chloe has grown a second head. Opens her mouth to reply, when Chloe spots their targets getting out from a cab and repeatedly slaps Ella's thigh, effectively cutting Ella from replying.

"They're here. Follow my lead," Chloe mentions, her lips twitching into an excited smile. She gets out from the car, marching towards one of the houses.

"Wait for me," Ella calls out, locks the car behind her and quickly follows after Chloe.

* * *

Mazikeen produces a silk handkerchief from her dress. There's a letter 'M' embroidered at its corner, in elaborate Spenserian script. A gift from a fallen friend. She polishes her blade with it. Her words are all garbled, yet it doesn't hinder him from understanding. "Shall I bring my blade to this unplanned meeting?"

He's not one to display emotive expression. A mere curl of his upper lip speaks to her eloquently as when he speaks. "That won't be necessary, Mazikeen. I plan to have a quick chat with Kevin. To verify if the anonymous tip has some truth."

Lately, she can't shake the creeping sensation of being watched. Mazikeen sheaths her blade into its scabbard. Fastening the scabbard's Velcro path around her thigh, she smoothens the creases on her floral patterned skirt. "What would you have me to do if the tip proves to be true?"

"I reserved your particular skillset for _other_ matters, Mazikeen. Kevin doesn't fall into that spectrum. But I suspect a little sneak peek to Hell shall do the trick."

Averts her gaze from the windows to grace an inquiring glance at Lucifer. "If he's not guilty, what then?"

"I wouldn't hold off any interesting appointments that may accidentally drop into our laps," Lucifer says, a grin slithering across his handsome features. "Until then, let's see how this plays out shall we?"

"As you wish."

The vehicle they're in, pulls to a stop, ahead of a distinct-looking mansion. Colonial, Mazikeen thinks, with a hint of Spanish influences on the rooftops. Five years ago, she couldn't tell the difference. All buildings looked similar to her—boxlike, unimaginative and dull. She can't say the same now.

"We're here," the Uber driver announces, breaking her out from her musing.

Satisfied with the transaction, Mazikeen rates the driver for a lower rating. That blatant leering since she entered the car, clinches the two star rating. Her phone vibrates to indicate the bill from Uber arrives, Mazikeen checks the email once and leaves the car.

It's a neighbourhood of white-picket fences, manicured lawns and massive concrete dwellings for families and their many polished façades. Ask Mazikeen how hell looks like, she'd say hell has many faces, this neighbourhood and all neighbours of its kind is one of them.

She looks down at her phone, the map app displaying their location. "Allow me," is all she says, before taking the lead to one of the houses. She notices a beige-coloured station wagon parked at the curb. "We have company," she states, directing a finger at the station wagon.

"Splendid. The more the merrier," Lucifer says, his steps remain energetic despite the measured gait he adopted. The walk to Kevin Gonzalez's home is short. Right as they reach the front porch, Chloe Decker and her dark-haired friend arrive, panting like dogs.

Mazikeen calculates their current situation. She won't be able to extract the information they required through normal means. Secrecy of her and Lucifer's true nature is paramount. So, Mazikeen bids her time and waits for Lucifer's further instruction.

"What are you doing here?" asks Chloe, doubling over and gasping for air. Then straightens her posture, her chin held high. She narrows her eyes at Lucifer suspiciously.

"On a LUX Club-related business, which I can assure you is the furthest away from the murder investigation you have going on," Lucifer replies, smirking.

Chloe sneers, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yeah, right. And cows have wings."

"Would you like to witness my interview with Kevin? I heard it helps to widen _certain_ tunnel vision."

"Like a collaboration?" Chloe says, scepticism flashing across her features.

"Yes, until you catch Delilah's murderer and my business with Kevin will conclude shortly hence the rest of my afternoon will be free. Justice for Delilah."

"Okay. But I get to ring the bell," Chloe retorts without hesitation, inserting herself between the front door and Lucifer.

Mazikeen's fingertips graze over her skirt. Particularly, the scabbard strapped to her thigh. It's a reflex honed by her nature, part of the Lilim, driven to secure one's safety at all cost.

"Ella Lopez," the brunette glances uncertainly at Chloe, "we don't share any classes together but I write for the school paper. You know, the Science Fiction section."

Ella turns to Lucifer, launching into a hug. Lucifer merely parts a polite smile at the sudden intrusion of personal space. He dips his head low, briefly— _no trouble here_ , that slight curving of his lip makes his message clear. He's amused.

Ella lets go of Lucifer, set her big dark eyes on Mazikeen. "I love the way you play the piano. It's awesome," Ella praises, raising both thumbs up at Lucifer.

With the end of her lips quirking into a smirk, Ella suddenly wraps her arms around Mazikeen, tipping her head backwards and lets Mazikeen go. "Wow. You're taller than I expected," Ella asserts, smiling.

She's saved from replying as the door swings wide open. Greeting them four is a wrinkly, elfin Hispanic woman. Her glasses perching on the edge of her nose, as she peers to get a better look at them. She permits a warm toothy smile, pushing the glasses up to her nose.

Chloe waves enthusiastically at the old woman. "Hi, we're friends of Kevin. From school. We're here for our study group. Kevin mentioned that it's his turn to host the study session."

Mazikeen shoves Ella to the front, allowing Chloe and Ella to take centre stage. She's been told that she lacks the warmth required to disarm the people's natural defensive walls. Mazikeen won't push her luck where she can't succeed.

"Don't need to call Kevin for us. Just point us the way," says Ella, holding up her sling bag high enough for the old woman to see.

The old woman, Mazikeen suspects must be Kevin's grandmother due to similarity of their noses and lips, imparts the instructions to Kevin's room. Promising to bring cookies, milk and whatever she could scrooge from the kitchen for them. Chloe and Ella offer to stay with Mrs Ensco and take the refreshment to their 'study group' themselves.

Mazikeen and Lucifer find Kevin Gonzalez in his bedroom. Right where his grandmother stated he'll be. Unaware to the situation waiting for him. Through the ajar door, Mazikeen observes him flexing his muscles with a dumbbell. A brief scan around his room, reveals the room has no security cameras. Plenty mirrors to reflect the vanity the boy has. He's of medium height, stocky and well-built as a result of his involvement in sports. Still, he has nothing on Mazikeen's years of vicious upbringing and penchant for necessary violence.

"Let's loosen his tongue up, Mazikeen. No bruises, please. I just want his full cooperation," Lucifer says, a smile tugging the corners of his lips.

"As you wish," Mazikeen affirms, pushing the door wide. Catching Kevin off guard. His mouth drops open, his eyes widens—the shock is fleeting at best, then anger replaces confusion.

"Kevin, that's not the way you should welcome your guests," Lucifer warns, jovially. "This private conversation won't last. I'll cut to the chase. We'll require your cooperation, Kevin. No lies, preferably."

Mazikeen understands his surprise. His vulgar response. She thinks for a moment or two, to extend civility or not. She doesn't like his tone—and his threat. Not that Lucifer minds.

"Delilah sure knows how to pick the best of men, does she?" Lucifer mutters, amusingly. His eyes are not blue—it's only blue to ignorant eyes. But to Mazikeen, his eyes glow amber like solar flares, fiery and unyielding. They're breathtakingly gorgeous and are scrutinising a framed photo of young Kevin with Peyton Manning.

Mazikeen dashes—faster than the human eye could see—hands around Kevin's upper torso. Pins him against the wall. Her slender hand covering his mouth. "He's terrible."

Lucifer cocks his head sideways, lifting one brow at Kevin. "I always wonder what she'd seen in him. But since you're the last person she treasured on some level, Kevin. We'll go gentle on you. Because if you persist on those lies," Lucifer pauses, permitting a devilish grin to grace his lips. He twists his head to her and says, "Mazikeen, give us a smile."

And so Mazikeen smiles. Without glamour. Kevin will see her. Will see her true face. The skinless, exposed flesh that stretched from her forehead to her chin, half of a nose to her missing ear and socket devoid of an eye.

The glamour returns to her—in time as the girls enter the room. Mazikeen releases her hold on Kevin. Letting the boy gather his scrambling wits off the floor. She'd wiped out of any thoughts of hostility burgeoning within Kevin. Good.

"Let's get the interview going," quips Chloe, eyeing Kevin with great interest. She sets down the tray on Kevin's desk. Marches towards Kevin, backing him against the wall. Meanwhile Ella busies herself with the cookies she brought.

"What do you want from me?" Kevin squeaks, his eyes narrowing.

Lucifer keeps his distance between the girls and Kevin, gazing towards the window.

Mazikeen moves to the door, standing in front of him. Barricading the door from any potential threats and the possibility of Kevin fleeing from them.

"We just got a couple of questions for you," Chloe answers, producing her notepad and a pen from her jeans pocket. Kevin doesn't exude the anger he displayed previously. Answering all the questions Chloe tossed at his direction with meekness Mazikeen didn't know he possess. Chloe jotting down the notes furiously. Ella proffers him with a glass of milk to calm his nerves, arm with her sunshine smile.

"Your turn," says Chloe, directing her thumb at Kevin.

Lucifer tears his attention from the windows. Staring at Kevin, he sweeps off imaginary dust of his shoulders. "I received a note stating you've been dealing drugs in the LUX Club. I would like to get my confirmation straight from the source. So, how do you plea?"

"I do, but not your place. _Never_ the LUX," Kevin implores, his voice shaking. "You have to believe me. I would never deal in your place."

"Marvellous. Where to next?" Lucifer inquires, shifts his sight to Chloe and grins. "I believe Kevin had generously provided us with a name, didn't he?"

"Wait a minute, what do you think you're doing?" Chloe splutters.

Lucifer scoffs, shrugging his shoulders. "What else? We're joining you in your investigation, Decker. Less you'd think we're still the culprits behind Delilah's murder."


	6. Dan, The Sane Man

On a basic level, she understands why she's the chauffeur, Chloe Decker rides the shotgun and Lucifer Morningstar and Mazikeen, his possible bodyguard/girlfriend/sidekick, occupying the station wagon's backseat.

Ella's the one with the car. Chloe's the one with the plan. Lucifer failed his driving exam twice—apparently he couldn't shake the British driving off his bones. Mazikeen, despite being tall and having the prettiest resting bitch face, is apparently the youngest among them. A year younger than all of them.

Ella glances at her passenger pouting and arms crossed defiantly. "Why the grumpy cat face?"

Chloe opts not to answer, but chooses to huff instead. Chloe glaring at her passengers helps to answer Ella's rhetorical question.

Ella stops at a red light, sneaking a peek at her passengers. Lucifer hasn't lose his smirk since he entered her car. Mazikeen—well, as long as she's not boring holes into Ella's back, Ella's a happy chauffeur—stares at the windows. "I thought this is what you wanted? That's why you came up with Plan A."

Honestly speaking, she still isn't sure what Plan A is. Only that Chloe planned to trick Lucifer into interviewing Kevin and gate-crashing the interview. She wasn't paying attention after the rest three minutes. Everything's too convoluted, in Ella's humble opinion. And she was in the middle of reading her old Star Trek comics.

"Plan A didn't include a tag along with Mister Suits and his girlfriend," Chloe hisses, her jaw's muscle tightens.

"Say what you want about them, but I think it's cool we have them," Ella replies, starts the car as the traffic light turns green and adds, "I feel safe."

Chloe raises a single eyebrow, and gasps, " _Safe_?"

"I know you're a cop's daughter, Chloe. But I also have seen you with a Taser gun and a pepper spray. You're a walking hazard."

"Am not."

"Yes, you are," Ella fires back, and switching the radio on, as they both fall into silence. The rest of the drive is smooth, to Ella at least. She can't say the same for Chloe. She's been grinding her teeth—plotting Lucifer and Mazikeen's imaginary deaths probably. But they arrive at the bowling alley in one piece, Ella's grateful for small miracles.

"How long you think this deal will last?" Ella asks, motioning at her passengers. The pair comes out from her car, looking very much out of place. A tall and slender boy decked in slim-fitting tuxedo. The other, dressed in a very lovely evening dress right out from Pinterest—rocking that stone cold bitch aura, Ella must admit, she's swooned a little.

"Until we find Delilah's murder," Chloe grumbles, then lightens up, "or when they get bored."

As she closes the door, locks it and about to head inside when someone familiar shouts at their direction, "Hey, Decker! Lopez, wait up!"

Dan Espinoza jogs to the car, his face set in a half-pout and half-frown. "What is this I hear you two playing Nancy Drew?"

Chloe wheels on her heels, staring at Ella. Her eyes all bugged out. "You _told_ him?" Chloe says, sounding outraged.

Ella retorts, "I _thought_ he knew. You said _he_ was the alternative candidate to your Plan B. I just assumed he knew too."

Chloe's head shakes sideways furiously, "No, he _doesn't_. What makes you think I told him, knowing he'll be like _this_?"

Dan interrupts them, "This is not _Clueless_. Are you out of your goddamn minds?"

Ella quips, "Actually, it's not Nancy Drew. Nancy Drew has friends, Bess and George. With Mazikeen, she actually qualifies to be George. I would say that I could be a George too—"

"Enough about the Nancy Drew talk. But seriously?" Dan glances at Lucifer and Mazikeen, both strutting into the bowling alley. "With _them_? I mean, isn't there any _other_ students than them?"

"What's wrong with them?" Chloe demands, jabbing at Dan's chest.

"Chloe," Dan says, rubbing his face and his lips pressed into a thin line, "You're playing detective on a case closed by the police. Not only that you're running around chasing a phantom killer with Morningstar and his girlfriend. Did you know Morningstar has a club whose members had committed various degree of criminal offenses?" His neck strained with popping veins.

"Malcolm isn't exactly a saint and you don't hear me _yapping_ about him being a bad friend to you," Chloe rebukes sharply, arching a brow.

"T-they're nice," Ella helpfully supplies. At this rate, she's forgotten—while Chloe and Dan are locked in their staring battle.

"Look, Dan, you may not care about Delilah. But _I_ do, she's not the type to commit suicide, Dan. She still had hope. So, I'm going to get to the bottom of her death—even if I had to get help from someone like Morningstar and his scary girlfriend!"

Both are fuming with rage—or rekindled attraction, Ella can't tell. She'll need to observe more. Until then, she's betting on seething annoyance. The silence stretches for a full minute, two minutes tops.

Dan throws his hands up in the air, groaning. " _Fine_!" He attempts to choke empty air before ruffling his hair. Dan sighs. "Let's get Delilah some justice and I'm coming along. No buts."

* * *

This is _fantastic_. Chloe needed fresh eyes. Now, she has four pairs of fresh eyes to help. None of them are remotely insightful, except Ella. She's not even sure what's the point of Lucifer and Mazikeen tagging along. Or why they chose to partner up with her.

Chloe only needed them to gain access to Kevin—they have better chances of getting Kevin to talk than two girls from the Journalism Club. With Kevin's interview, the LUX Club effectively drops down from her suspect list.

And yet, Lucifer insisted, stating that 'four heads are better than two' and he doesn't take 'No' for an answer. It doesn't help that stupidly handsome boy might be right. The fear he easily dispatch at Kevin—Chloe hates to say it— _contributed_ a lot to Kevin's brutal honesty.

[Ella _might_ be right on Chloe's ability to yield a Taser gun and a pepper spray. Although in her defence, the wind was blowing in the wrong direction when she tried to pepper-spray the student.]

Then, there's Dan. Looming over their shoulders like a worried parent. "So, who you're interviewing? The boyfriend?"

"No," Ella pipes up, "We already did that."

"Then, who's this?"

"An old secret admirer," Ella answers.

"And he's relevant. How?"

"He also was Delilah's best friend before she dated Kevin."

Chloe scans the bowling alley for Lucifer and Mazikeen. Finds them both by the concession stand. Sipping sodas, by the looks of it. As well as chatting to a scruffy-looking boy. The boy has unkempt short and bleached blond hair and mischievous blue eyes.

"I'd be willing to give to ya for free, if you're up for a little tumbling around the sheets," the boy says, winking at Lucifer, in a British accent. Not refined and polished like Lucifer's, his accent is rather rough around the edges. "Invite the lady too."

Lucifer's lips twitch into a knowing smirk, "I would have accepted the offer had I not been privy to your unfortunate habit of screwing people over, John. As for Mazikeen, you'll have to ask her yourself."

"So, what's your answer, love?" John wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Mazikeen.

Mazikeen eyes him from the bottom of his shoes to the tip of his hair. "I'm in a long-term relationship with the King of Hell," she deadpans.

"Well, then _this_ ," John brandishes a CD album from his pocket, feigns a hurt expression, "is going to cost you two hundred bucks, love."

"Consider it a done deal," Lucifer produces his wallet, slapping the dollar bills into John's hand. "Get yourself quality cigarettes. Not the cheap ones that's going to cost you your health."

John bids them farewell. Before he leaves the bowling ring, he winks at Chloe—or was it Dan?

"What's that about?" Chloe asks, peering at the CD album. There's nothing extraordinary about it. Looks to Chloe, like one of those generic CDs with a handwritten label.

Lucifer pockets the CD album into his jacket, and smiles. "I bought John's collection of experimental music. Would you like to give it a listen? A review for the paper. John could use the good press."

"He's a musician? Huh, doesn't strike me as one. But the late Christopher Lee released several symphonic metal albums. He must have a voice of an angel," Ella comments. "Hidden depths."

"Whatever. Let's see if we could find Tom Brandt," she says, putting an end to their meaningless chatting. The manager points to one of their employees moping the floor. Tom is skinny, with a clean-crew haircut and a case of bad-acne.

Chloe takes the lead, approaching him first. She flashes a charming smile at him. "Tom Brandt?"

"Uh huh," Tom replies, without averting his gaze from the floor. Diligently scrubbing dried puke off the linoleum floor.

"You're a friend of Delilah's?"

His attention snaps to Chloe. Takes in the fact there are five people closing in on him. His eyes darting from Ella to Dan, lingers a second too long on Mazikeen and Lucifer before settling to Chloe. "Yeah," Tom stammers, "who are you people?"

Chloe repeats her introduction and the possible theory of Delilah's death. Throws a glare at that smug wearing kid. Lucifer sips his soda drink loudly every five seconds, interrupting her flow. Trust Mazikeen to harmonize with Lucifer's soda drinking to add more fuel to Chloe's annoyance. It's like the pair can't go a minute without attempting to make Chloe's life miserable.

[Thank God, they empty their soda faster than Chloe had expected. Lucifer crushes his soda drink and drops it to a nearby bin. Mazikeen goes to refill hers. Damn.]

"So you think Delilah's being murdered," Tom says flatly, the sloshing of his mop stops. His lips pursed in thought. The mop's handle resting on his shoulder.

"Yeah, we think—" Ella's words are tragically short when Tom slaps his hands together.

"I knew it!" Tom exclaims, "There's no way she would die of an overdose. Delilah doesn't touch that stuff."

"Because it interferes with her studying," Chloe states, recalling her sole meeting with Delilah.

Tom's head wildly shaking from left to right. "No. That's not it. Delilah's mum. She died of a drug overdose when Delilah was ten. So Delilah really hated drugs."

"What about her biological father?" Dan asks, crossing his well-toned arms together and steps next to Chloe's side. His blue eyes narrowing in interest.

"Well, her dad died when she was five. Hung himself in his apartment after he lost custody of Delilah to her mother and step-dad."

Chloe questions, "No ideas on who would want Delilah dead then?"

"None that I can think of," Tom's voice trails off, he scratches his chin. "But I always thought her step-dad has that creepy vibe."

"Creepy vibe?" Ella chimes in.

"Back when we used to hang out, her step-dad kept a tight leash on her. Always calling her, wanting to know where she was and who she hung out with. I caught him peeking on her while she changed several times. I tried telling Delilah but she brushed it off, saying it's nothing. By the look on her step-dad's face, I don't buy it."

"And you didn't mention this to the police because?" Chloe inquires. Boy, did her dad miss out on some crucial information. No wonder they were quick to brand her death an overdose.

Tom shrugs his shoulders. "I didn't think it was important," Tom replies, sheepishly. He starts mopping the practically shiny floor.

"Now, that _can't_ be the answer. Isn't it, Tom?" Lucifer refutes, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. He cocks a brow at Tom. "Your friendship was over before she dated Kevin. With her predilection towards certain boys, I doubt you're just the socially awkward boy as your appearance suggests."

He sighs. Wipes his sweaty brow with his sleeve. His shoulders slumping, he confesses, "I-she caught me peeping on her and the cheerleading squad."

"A literal Peeping Tom? _Wouldn't_ have guessed it," Lucifer surmises, with a smile that says otherwise.


	7. Bad Ideas

"We are _not_ going to visit her step-dad," Dan Espinoza warns.

"Why not?" Chloe challenges.

"Did you _miss_ the part where Peeping Tom said her step-dad could be the killer?" His voice dramatically hitches, sounding out like a squeak instead.

Chloe rolls her eyes. " _No_ , I didn't."

Dan jams the heel of his hand against his eye socket. "Then why take the risk to visit a potential murderer?"

"Why are you so worried? I got a Taser gun and pepper spray in case he tries to attack us. And I got my dad on the Police Department on speed dial."

"Yeah and we have Luce—" Lucifer's lips are flat, and his forehead wrinkling that Ella hastily adds, "—cifer and Maze."

Lucifer's smile returns. Mazikeen's eyebrow twitches at the word 'Maze'. "I rather not be called after a labyrinth."

"O-okay. _Not_ Maze. How about Maz without the 'e'?" Ella corrects herself, laughing nervously.

" _No_."

Ella changes her tune, with Mazikeen glaring at her from the backseat. "Okay, got it. _Mazikeen_. Not Maze. Not Maz."

"We should let your dad handle this," Dan tries once more. Objecting from the backseat, sticks his chin out beside Chloe's seat.

"And risk getting my ass grounded for eternity?"

Dan suggests, "Lie to him, then."

Chloe snorts. "My dad isn't going to believe me. He know I'd lie before I even say a word. So, _no_."

"Leave an anonymous tip then," Dan grumbles, "why are you stopping the car, Ella?"

Ella lets out a nervous laugh. "Oops, we're here."

"Where's _here_?" Dan questions, tossing a side glance at Ella.

Ella sighs. "Gilbert's residence. Mister Michael Gilbert."

"Who?"

"Delilah McCord's step-father," Chloe says, in excitement.

Her brows furrowed. "I thought we all agree to visit Mister Gilbert," Ella explains, sticks her lower lip in a pout.

"No, we didn't," counters Dan. "This is a _bad_ idea."

"Let's take a vote. All in favour for Daniel to shut up?" Chloe announces, looking straight into Dan's eyes.

Chloe raises her hand high, smirking. Ella matches her gesture. Mazikeen holds a finger up that everyone can see. Lucifer throws his vote of 'yes' with his arm hand sticking in the air. Dan huffs, folding his arms across his chess in defiance.

A huge smile splits her face. Chloe lifts a victorious brow at Dan. "See? So, _shut_ up, Daniel."

Before Chloe could devise a cover, Lucifer opens the door and gets out from the car. If he tells the truth, it defeats the purpose of the reconnaissance. Lucifer might be a suit-wearing, well-groomed boy, but he's still a boy. Mister Gilbert could have a gun for all Chloe know. A tailored suit is not a bulletproof vest.

[And Chloe just dragged four other kids along to imminent deaths, if Lady Luck decides to bail on her today. Her dad won't be able to kill her for being stupid, seeing how she might be too dead for that.]

Chloe jumps out from the car. _Literally_. Sprints towards Lucifer, one outstretched hand waiting to slap Lucifer's hand. Lucifer's hand is inches away from the doorbell. Alas the bell rings before she could swat his hand.

"Hello, Mister Gilbert. I'm," she pauses to take a deep breath, struggling to maintain her smile, "Chloe Decker from Vertigo High." She shoots a glare at Lucifer for a second, then flashing a smile back at Mister Gilbert. "This is Lucifer Morningstar. We're writing a tribute to Delilah for the school's paper."

When Peeping Tom—err, Tom Brandt—mentioned about the step-dad's peeping activities, Chloe assumed he'd be one creepy dude. A bad case of halitosis. Stringy hair, shabby beard and clothes taken from a hunter's catalogue. That kind.

He isn't. Mister Gilbert wears a turquoise turtleneck vest. His brown hair thinning on the back. No beard, just a pencil-thin moustache. He smiles, his brown eyes glazing at the mere mention of Delilah's name. "And you're here for?"

"We're hoping to get a few pictures of Delilah," Chloe replies.

Just as the other three reach the front porch, the weather decides to take a different turn. _Downpour_. Just great. The house's porch isn't spacious, forcing them to cramp together in the porch. Chloe's right shoulder is pressed against Lucifer's forearm. Squashed between the wall and Chloe is Ella tiptoeing on her heels. Mazikeen's breath is hot on Chloe's neck. Dan's trying to hold himself from falling off the porch with the little space left.

"Come in," Gilbert says, waving all five of them to enter his home.

The air inside the home is stale and hot. Like there hasn't been any fresh air since two weeks ago. The house's neat. Organised. The furniture comprises of two-seater couch, an armchair and a coffee table. Thick drapes hanging over the windows, blocking viewers from peeking into the home. Pictures of Delilah decorating the walls, almost like an evolutionary chart from her being a baby to sixteen. Hardly any pictures of his wife though. About two to three, compared to Delilah's twenty-ish pictures.

"Have a seat," Gilbert motions around the couch. Then dabs his forehead with the end of his sleeve.

"O-okay, Mister Gilbert," Chloe answers, flashing him a quick smile. The couch's only meant for two, not three. While Chloe, Ella and Dan squeeze themselves into the couch, Lucifer makes the wisest choice to occupy the armchair. Mazikeen sitting on the chair's forearm, her shapely legs crossed.

"Is it me or someone has a fetish for uniforms?" Dan murmurs. Chloe nudges her elbow at Dan's rib, shutting him up.

If Gilbert heard Dan's comment, he doesn't show it. His lips part to reveal uneven teeth, a nervous smile adorning his features. He produces several thick albums from underneath the coffee table, passes them around.

"I'll bring you kids some sodas," Gilbert says softly, walking towards the kitchen.

Dan's 'uniform' comment isn't out of place. Nearly half of Delilah's pictures are her wearing uniforms. One of those Catholic school uniforms. Not too recent, judging from the style.

"She's smart," Ella points a finger at another wall. The wall's the only one in the entire house that isn't fitted with pictures of Delilah, but her awards. Accomplishments in AP courses. Like wow. "She's not smart. She's a genius," says Dan, studying each framed award closely.

"Not a genius. But a hard-worker," Mazikeen informs. Chloe can't argue with Mazikeen. She'd seen how Delilah handled her bookkeeping duties. The girl's detailed and you don't get that way on talent alone.

"Keep him busy," Chloe whispers to Ella and excuses herself to the toilet.

Along the way, more pictures hung on the walls. These are small size with faux-gold photo frames. Only these photos are not solo shoots of Delilah.

It's Delilah and Michael Gilbert. Locked in each other's embrace—not the kind Chloe and her dad has, you know, loving and _familial_. Chloe can only describe the photos as "intimate". Judging from the expressions on Delilah's face, this intimate affair is fairly one-sided on Gilbert's part.

Chloe locks the toilet door. Slips a pair of gloves on. Yes, she brought her own gloves wherever she goes. Might never know when she'd stumble into evidence of any crime. In this case, the thrash can of murder suspects. No way would she want to leave her fingerprints on the items and contaminate them.

She upends the bin, sifts through the thrash. Chloe whips her phone and snaps several pictures of the bin's contents. Two untorn ticket stubs for the movie Gilbert claimed he watched on the day of Delilah's overdose. Empty prescription bottles, all under Gilbert's name. There's something familiar about the drugs on the bottles' labels. She consults her notepad. Sees the drugs' scientific names in Delilah's toxic screen test. It's the _same_. She found the drugs that killed Delilah.

[Holy shit, Michael Gilbert _killed_ Delilah. For what reason, Chloe isn't too sure now. But holy _fucking_ shit, she _did_ it. She finally _found_ Delilah's killer. Holy shit—there _are_ four teenagers flipping through photo albums in the living room.]

 _Think_ , Chloe. She needs to get them out from the home immediately. But first, she has to keep her cool. She needs to put the thrash back into the bin. Sends a short SOS message to Ella, and Chloe quickly gets out from the toilet. Just in time to catch Gilbert to ask questions about Chloe.

Gilbert's voice floats down to the corridor leading to the toilet. "Where's your friend, the blonde?"

Dan answers, "Oh, she went to the toilet."

"T-the toilet?" Gilbert questions, and his tone abruptly deepens.

"Yeah, and here she is," Ella replies, waving at Chloe.

"Any problems, Miss Decker?"

"I must have got something from the tacos I had yesterday, Mister Gilbert," Chloe lies, making a show out of wiping the corners of her mouth with her thumb.

"Ah, yes."

"So," Chloe says, lifting her both brows at Ella. Tipping her head at the door. Legs and her entire body facing the door. That's as subtle as Chloe could think of, to remind Ella they need to get out from here.

"So," Ella echoes. Her face working that expression which Chloe assumes is one massive confusion. Then it dawns to her what Chloe's trying to hint. "We got good pics of Delilah for the paper," Ella replies, in that awkward and stilted tone—she's a terrible liar.

"Oh, we do? Then, we're done here. It's getting late, Mister Gilbert," Chloe says, tapping against her empty wrist. Oops. Chloe doesn't allow Mister Gilbert to reply, instead she herds all of them out from the house like they're a bunch of lost sheep.

"Do you mind explaining?" Dan hisses as they stride towards Ella's car.

"Let's just get into the car and I'll explain," says Chloe, tosses a look over her shoulder. She catches Mister Gilbert reaching for his keys and heading for his garage.

When Ella drives away from the Gilbert's residence, Chloe shares her discoveries. Dan's not impressed, countering with what ifs. Lucifer and Mazikeen engaged in a conversation disconnected from theirs. Chloe can't tell what they're talking about—seeing both of them are speaking in a language she could describe as musically pleasing and highly sophisticated.

"Everyone buckle up," Ella announces, "we got company." She steps on the gas, increasing the speed. Manoeuvring expertly on the road as she swerves to left. 'Company' tries to ram into the car's bumper. Dan goes into backseat-driving mode. Chloe tries to get a better look—it's Michael Gilbert driving like a maniac.

The station wagon gets a hit. Ella manages to bring the car into control. Another slam at the bumper. Ella moves out from Gilbert's lane. Zig-zagging to lose him.

Who knew Ella's an excellent driver, Chloe files that information for later use. Lucifer's completely unfettered, looking at his watch—like he's bored. Mazikeen? For some reason, she's supporting a slasher smile on her face.

"Where do you want me to drive?"

"Somewhere safe," Dan replies.

"To the nearest police station."

"Ok—"

She could feel the sudden impact of metal meeting metal at high speed. Hears tempered glass cracks and shatters. Little pieces of glass cuts through her skin. The car spins away from the road. Slides down the grassy slopes. Rams into a tree. Chloe's vision goes black.

* * *

Her first breath stings. Her tongue tastes acrid coppery tang of blood. Shattered glasses embed on her forehead—she must have smashed her forehead at the windows. The last droplets of rain splashing on her face, washing blood away from her forehead. Mazikeen tries to stand up, but can't. She's pinned to her seat. She opens her eyes, sees a steel rod impaling her chest. That explains her pained breath. And the reason she's stuck to the seat. Otherwise, she still retains her faculties.

She hears Lucifer's voice, unaffected and mild annoyance creeping out from his tone, "Mazikeen, sustain any life-threatening injuries?

Mazikeen glances down at the steel sticking out from her chest, her fingers coiling around the steel. "A mortal flesh wound," Mazikeen murmurs, yanking the steel out with one forceful jerk. "Nothing I can't heal from," she groans, chucking the twisted rail over her shoulder with ease. Her healing ability kicks in, mending her ripped lungs and gashed muscles into the smooth skin and functional lungs. Like she never had a hole in her chest in the first place.

She brushes the dirt off her wet hair and swipes the fragmented glasses from her forehead. "How about you, My Lord?"

"Just the suit took a beating," Lucifer answers, pushing his damp golden hair away from his eyes. He removes his blazer, ties around his waist and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.

Mazikeen notes the tattered condition his suit in. Mud and oil tarnish his unblemished face. His hair flat from the rain. Her lips curling into a smirk she can't help to display.

"I never really like the colour anyway," Lucifer retorts, returning her smirk with his own. He bends over Ella and Chloe, checking their wrists for a pulse. "They're unconscious but alive."

"So as Dan," Mazikeen utters. He isn't pinned down to his seat, like she was. Mazikeen checks him for any serious injuries. No torn skin, except for the cuts on his hands and neck. Cracked ribs most likely. One lucky kid. She carries him in her arms, bridal-style—not that he'll ever know. Places him on a grassless ground, before returning to the site of car crash.

Mazikeen releases Ella from the seatbelt strapped across her body. Slices the seatbelt with her dagger. Mazikeen moves the girl from the wrecked car to the ground—next to Dan's. She spares a glance at Lucifer's direction.

Lucifer grabs the front bummer, tearing it away from Chloe without a fuss. Lucifer slips one arm underneath her legs and the other supporting her back. "Do you think she'll escape from her father's wrath now that she has acquired this broken leg?" He lifts a brow at her, grinning.

"Break another and I think daddy would be _relieved_ that she can't leave the house for a couple of months," Mazikeen snorts. She catches a gun's barrel glinting in the dark coast. The shooter aims the gun at their direction. He shoots. And misses.

Lucifer doesn't flinch. Mazikeen's skin itches for a payback.

"It seems like our driver wants to confirm we're dead for himself," Lucifer remarks, face set in a calm expression.

"How would you like me to proceed?"

"I'd say, go forth and unleash hell," Lucifer says, "And Mazikeen?"

Mazikeen doesn't avert her sight from their shooter. A predatory smile snaking her lips crookedly—the perfect symmetry of her face is gone. Only half of a beautiful face, she proudly exhibits. Gripping her dagger tightly, and says, "Yes, My Lord?"

"He doesn't deserve our pity."


	8. Unexpected Visitor

He watches in silence. He has seen it all. It has gone long enough. All these chaotic tomfoolery. The man shall pay for his crimes in accordance to human laws. The human will pay his due again for when his time has come.

"That's enough," his voice booms, and he freezes a second's flash between the Lilim's blade and the human's heart. A beating heart goes still. The Lilim's blade hangs suspended in the air. And all around them are petrified like stationary statues. His wings—black and large—snaps open.

"Brother, how _nice_ of you to join us," Lucifer opens, his lips bearing a brazen grin. His arms folded over his chest. His eyes of luminescent amber sparkling with amusement.

"Lilim, his penance is not _your_ decision," Amenadiel admonishes. His left wing swipes the blade away. It clangs unceremoniously on the ground. He withdraws his wing back, hands clasped together in front of him.

The Lilim slips into an attacking position, her blade already in her hand. Given the chance, she rather take Amenadiel head on. She forgoes her glamour—Amenadiel notes the disfigured half of her face and her brain matter exposed. He lets out a sigh of disgust. Reckless Lilim. But it's not his concern for the moment. For time is frozen for everyone but them three.

Lucifer shifts his weight to his other leg. Raises a hand to halt the Lilim. "Mazikeen, Amenadiel has a point," his brother agrees, "Maybe he'll rot in jail. Perhaps _not_." The Lilim snarls at Amenadiel, yet returns to Lucifer's side.

Lucifer rubs his chin. His lips quirking into a broad smirk. "I was beginning to wonder when you will honour us with your _divine_ presence." He gestures at the unconscious teenagers lying on the ground. "It would have been nice to have you popping up _before_ the children are harmed."

Amenadiel levels a stern look at his brother. "Father _wants_ you to return to Hell," he decrees.

"The Old Man's desire is not my concern," Lucifer bristles.

"It's His command for you to take your place in Hell."

"The last I heard through the grapevine, Father sent his _obedient_ angels to govern it," Lucifer states, peering at his fingernails like they're far important compared to Amenadiel. "Either way, my presence is unwarranted."

"Remiel and Duma are not the ones who are supposed to reign over Hell," Amenadiel counters.

"What? You _don't_ like their job performance?" Lucifer scoffs. "Remiel and Duma are doing one _hell_ of a job, seeing how they manage to make Hell even worse than when I was part of Hell's triumvirate." He lifts his eyebrow cockily. His grin widens. "Isn't that what Father's _grand_ idea of Hell was?" He emphasises the word 'Father' with absolute disdain.

Amenadiel's wings aberrantly flare in a moment of unrestrained anger. Amenadiel takes a deep breath in, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dealing with a stubborn Sam—Lucifer is impossible and never endears Lucifer to Amenadiel. He hasn't win a single riposte against Lucifer's poisoned tongue. Guess that score's still intact.

"Now, if you don't mind, brother." Lucifer directs a thumb at the mortal children, "I like to get home and wash up in the next two hours. But if you want to explain the authorities why they're missing two teenagers after a fun night, be my guest."

"You don't have your wings. You can't fly," Amenadiel points out.

"Yes, but mankind has wonderful technological advances since you last visited," Lucifer replies, smoothly. He reaches into his back pocket, producing a small matchbox and hands it over to Mazikeen the Lilim. "Strike a match, destination the penthouse, Mazikeen."

This kind of callous disrespect irks Amenadiel. He already made a mess, leaving Hell for Earth. Now, his _dearest_ brother decides to flee and leave his problems for others to pick up. "Where you think you're going?" Amenadiel chides, his wings bristling.

Lucifer clucks his tongue twice. "Home. Like you graciously reminded me, I can't fly. Uber won't drive out here. So that leaves transportation via portal. You'd be amaze the tricks these parlour magicians could do with their boundless creativity."

"Done," Amenadiel agrees. He rescinds his hold over time. A human's heart beats again. A black feather glides across the air as the wind breeze blows. The man collapses on his knees, shaking from the fear.

Mazikeen straightens his legs and she stomps on them—the bones break from the impact. Her voice is hoarse and her words jumbled up in raw balderdash. "So he can't run away," she explains, shrugging her shoulders. She takes out an electronic device from her dress, dials a number and speaks to 911. She ends the call several minutes later. "They'll be here soon."

"Good work, Mazikeen," he says, lips curving into a smirk. "You want to stay, brother? You'd have to explain on why you're dressed for Halloween as a Roman centurion."

"I'm still keeping my eyes on you, _brother_ ," Amenadiel hisses, scornful. Amenadiel unfolds his wings large and spread out overhead. He flaps his wings for take-off and leaves.


	9. Long Night

Chloe Decker wakes up to both of her legs in plaster casts. Ella Lopez resting due to a concussion and her left arm set in a sling. Dan Espinoza with cracked ribs and supporting a neck brace.

Dan snoring, on Chloe's left. Ella grinding her teeth as she sleeps, at Chloe's right. All three of them ordered to remain in the hospital for overnight observation.

Except Lucifer Morningstar and Mazikeen Smith. Both _miraculously_ survived the car crash without a single scratch on them. They were discharged half an hour later, after they arrived the hospital.

Something's _not_ right. Mazikeen. She _shouldn't_ be walking around like she just scraped her knees in the crash. Chloe recalls a steel rod. Remembers a hole. Why steel rod? What hole? Chloe rubs her eyes twice, trying to jumpstart her hazy memory.

Steel rod. Impalement. Chest. Mazikeen's impaled in her chest by a steel rod. How Mazikeen was indifferent to her injuries, as if it was mosquito bite. Yes, that's right. Chloe _saw_ it with her eyes. She knows it.

But—she _could_ have been _dreaming_. Delirious with the pain spreading from her broken legs. They've been in a car crash after all. The car's descent down the grassy slope could have knocked her head hard.

Anyway, it doesn't matter. That's not worth mulling over.

Delilah McCord finally got the justice she deserved.

Michael Gilbert confessed his crime as soon as he could talk. Gilbert had been sexually and emotionally abusing Delilah since she was nine. Obsessed with her, to the point he tried to isolate her away from her friends. It was rather unfortunate Delilah didn't have much friends to begin with. Made it easier for him to control her when she was younger. Then, she entered high school and spent most of her time at LUX. Like that old adage, absence makes the heart go fonder. Gilbert went crazy—drugging Delilah to subdue her to keep her home.

She doesn't get the full story from John Decker. Only bits of the story her dad relayed to her in second hand. His idea of punishment. The broken legs are as good as Chloe being grounded until she's crutch-free. Her dad was even giddy after knowing she would waste her waking moments speculating and guessing to how Gilbert killed Delilah.

There were two tickets. One for Gilbert, the other for Delilah. But Delilah refused to join—he drugged her, to keep her close. But the dosage was fatal. She died. He redressed her in the most innocent-looking clothing he liked and owned; the catholic school uniform. Dumped her in front of the place she spent her time the most.

It's only her speculation. Give her dad a few days, he'll eventually cave in and Chloe will have the truth. And when she's discharged from the ward, she'll write the true story of Delilah McCord. Set the story straight once and for all.

* * *

Had they _taken_ care of Gilbert the 'usual' way, they wouldn't spend an hour reassuring the police officers—notably Detective John Decker—that Lucifer and Mazikeen don't need supervision. Mazikeen throws the excuse of their parents uncontactable due the time zones.

[Mazikeen sneers. Lilith isn't one who Mazikeen would call motherly. There isn't a doubt in Mazikeen's bones that Lilith would not even care if any of her grotesque brood perish today, turn ashes tomorrow.]

Mazikeen drives sharp teeth into her thumb. Prickling the skin to draw blood. She thumbs a warding demon sigil on the door. Licking her thumb clean, she turns to Lucifer and asks, "How about your brother?"

"Amenadiel?" Lucifer lifts one brow at her. Shakes his head lightly. Red cherry lips curling into a smirk she's fond of. He replies, "I wouldn't worry too much about him. He isn't terribly bright as angelic brothers go."

She punches in the code and slides her key at the doorknob. The light turns green, she opens the door. Mazikeen pushes the door, sidestepping to allow him to enter. She locks the door, kicks off her muddy shoes and places them at the shoe rack.

The foyer's light comes on automatically, illuminating the dark living room, as Lucifer walks towards the bar. He removes the blazer hanging over his shoulders. Sets it on the countertop.

"Let's see if Constantine has enriched his musical abilities since his last mix-tape." Lucifer positions the CD into the audio system and plays it. The music has remarkably improved—not solely electronic and the discernible spell chanting disguised as rapping.

"At least it's English now," Mazikeen says. "Is he singing about how he loves cigars?"

"Yes," Lucifer reaffirms, grinning. "But it fulfils its purpose to drain all the energy from the demons." He returns to the bar, takes a seat on the barstool.

Mazikeen moves over to the bar. Produces two crystalline glasses from the cabinet, and placing the glasses on the countertop. She traces a finger along the liquor shelves, before stopping short at Glenmorangie signet and Smirnoff. "Whisky or vodka?"

"I'm in the mood for whisky," Lucifer answers, fishing a packet of cigarettes out from his blazer's upper pocket. He clips the cigarette in between two fingers. Tiny flames flickering from his fingertips. Lucifer brings the cigarette's end to the fire. Closing his palm, he puts the fire out and takes a drag.

Mazikeen unscrews the bottle open, pours the whiskey into two glasses, full. She slides Lucifer's glass towards him. Mazikeen props an elbow on the countertop, one hand clutching her glass. "Did you always know it was him?"

He draws of the cigarette, long and slow. Blows the smoke upwards, crowning around his golden-hair like a halo. "I had my suspicions. Her bruises. The non-stop calls before she dated Kevin. Her desire to avoid home."

There's silence between them. Nothing much to say, really. Their business with the Journalism Club's concluded. LUX Club is no longer in danger of being with investigated by that pesky Chloe Decker.

Lucifer stamps the butt at the ashtray. Looks down at his glass for a moment. He raises his glass up, the corner of his mouth twisting half a smile. She does the same.

"To Delilah," Lucifer simply says.

"To Delilah. Her death's avenged," Mazikeen agrees.

They clink their glasses. Sipping their whiskey to Constantine's operatic-pop singing on his cigars in the background, with the spell being recited in the chorus.

"My Lord," she hesitates.

Lucifer empties his glass, glances at her. A smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, Mazikeen?"

"We need a new tutor. Got mid-terms in two weeks."


	10. A New Day, A New Case

There's a knock on the door that breaks Chloe's concentration. Ella Lopez twirls her head to the door in response. They share a moment of silence, then get to their feet. Together they walk to the door, Chloe Decker cracks it open. Wide enough for Ella and her to glimpse at their visitor.

His hair, black and coarse, cropped to a crew cut. His swarthy skin reminds Chloe of an ancient walnut tree standing tall and proud during new moon. His eyes are russet, with flecks of gold in them. He's dressed in grey slacks, a form-fitting blue dress t-shirt and exudes an air of ominous allure. "Is this the Journalism Club?"

Ella's jaw hangs wide open. Chloe discreetly swallows her saliva.

The Journalism Club don't get visitors often. Not the most popular club by a long shot. Its club members? A _grand_ total of three, including Chloe. Previous members had quitted after a month—too much work and little pay off. So a fresh face is rare. Especially when fresh face is tall, dark and handsome. Scratch that, a boy like him doesn't come at all.

Ella's the first to break the awkward silence. "Yes, I am. I mean, this is it. Club of Junior Journalists," she stammers.

Her chin tilting upwards, Chloe quirks a brow at him. "And you are?"

"Stephen Johnson," he replies, extending his hand out. His lips curling into a dimpled smile. His tenor voice is smooth as ocean waves crashing against the shore. Damn, he's attractive. And distracting.

"Ella Lopez." Ella manages to swat Chloe's hand away, and shakes his hand a tad too long. A smile so wide that it might split her face.

"Chloe Decker," she offers, giving his hand a quick shake. "What brings you here?"

"I'm looking for Dan Espinoza. He told me that the Journalism Club's looking for new members," Stephen explains, in clipped generalised American accent.

After Olivia dropped out for Frisbee Club, they agreed unanimously that they won't add anymore members. On the grounds that they've been the driving force for the paper and they don't need anyone else. Of course, Chloe blurts out, "We are?"

Ella elbows Chloe's ribs, shushing her, and enthusiastically reiterates, " _Yes_ , we are."

"Hey, Stephen. So you decided to join us?" Dan's voice interrupts them, he waves at Stephen from his desk. He joins them at the doorframe, grinning.

Stephen curtly nods, "Yes. I think I could gain a wealth of knowledge from my time with this club."

Ella gets that mischievous twinkle in her doe-like brown eyes. "Cool. Now, since you're a newbie. You get to do the fashion segment." Without another word, she twirls on her heels and walks away. Ella returns to her desk, back to working on her newest article on the timeline of all Star Trek movies.

Stephen's forehead creases, "Fashion segment?"

"Don't worry, bud. I got your back," Dan sympathetically says, curving an arm around Stephen's broad shoulders. He pats Stephen twice, brings him into the room, "By the time you're done with being a newbie and that segment—you could tell the difference between mandarin top and a jabot, a gillet from a moto, wedge heels and cone heels. You get the big picture."

Stephen's six-feet-plus frame hides another visitor. She's dark-haired, with wavy shoulder-length hair. Porcelain skin, downturned brown eyes. Pretty. Just about Chloe's height. Decked in a striped blouse and jeans. Chloe seen her around LUX's dance floor a couple of times; Shelly Kaluta.

Instead of staring at Chloe, Shelly sets her sight on Stephen. Her brows furrowed, red-stained lips pursed in thought. One brow nearly disappearing underneath her bangs.

Chloe smiles, "Are you here to join the Journalism Club too?"

No response. Shelly's still eyeing Stephen—like she's appreciating how firm Stephen's butt looked in those tight grey slacks. Not that Chloe was paying any attention.

"Hello?" Chloe snaps her fingers in front of Shelly.

Shelly breaks her attention from Stephen, and stutters, "W-what did you say?"

Chloe repeats her question about her wanting to be the second newest recruit to the Journalism Club.

Shelly points at herself, arching her brow. Shaking her head, Shelly clarifies, "Me? Not a chance. I'm good with the Harry Potter Club." She continues, "But I'm looking for Chloe Decker."

Chloe raises her hand up. The corners of her lips quirking upwards, and she declares, "That's me."

"You're the one who investigated that Delilah who died, right? And found her killer?"

Her heart swells with pride. Someone actually _read_ the paper. Well, specifically _her_ tribute to Delilah McCord. Not the Sci-Fi section, which was surprisingly popular. And definitely not the Drama Section—the section regarded the _best_ part of the paper. Chloe tries to stifle a victorious smile, but fails miserably. "Yeah, it was me. But it was actually a collaborative effort between several students."

Shelly opens her bag, takes out a file folder and taps on the file's cover. "I got a case for you," she says, sombre. Then hugs the file tightly.

Chloe glances at the file in Shelly's hand. Her interest peaks. People coming to the Journalism Club, demanding they take a case, never happen. As if Chloe's running a private investigation agency, instead of the school's paper.

"A case?"

[The last time Chloe Decker decided to play the detective-slash-journalist, she broke both legs. Though she'd swear that she only broke one leg when they first crashed against the tree. It's one of the mysteries Chloe yet to solve. Not to mention, her father decided to take away her TV privileges when she continued to watch crime scene shows. So, she really has to think twice before diving into the case, all blind.]

Shelly's head bobs up and down, producing a newspaper clip. Its headline; 'Killer Kid Strangled Student'.

Chloe observes the name 'Gordon Kaluta' under the perpetrator's portrait. The alleged student killer shared similar features with Shelly; same slope of nose, sharp dark eyes and messy bangs.

Shelly notices the unspoken question sitting on Chloe's lips. "Yup. It's my brother. He's in jail, pending trial. The police said he killed Ramon Valdez," Shelly mentions.

Valdez. That name strikes a chord in Chloe's memory. She recalls seeing that name on the school's staff committee board. As in Harry Valdez. Principal of Vertigo High.

"As in Principal Valdez's son?"

"Uh huh."

"When did this happen?" Chloe asks, attempting to recall if she read any crimes pertaining to Gordon Kaluta or Ramon Valdez.

"This was before you moved here."

Her dad had several cases where the perpetrators are clearly guilty, but their family members and friends refused to believe in the fact the perpetrators are capable of committing heinous crimes. "Are you sure you're not mistaken?"

Shelly releases an exasperated sigh. "I _know_ my brother. He's dumb as a brick and you can call him all the words associated with a dumbass," she pauses, pinching the bridge of her nose, "But he's not a killer. He has a short fuse. But he's not even violent."

"I—I don't," Chloe trails off.

"He's framed for a crime he didn't commit," Shelly adamantly insists.

Chloe somewhat believes in Shelly's words. She can't standby seeing a boy spending the rest of his formative years behind jail. Especially if he's not guilty. At last, she concedes, "I can't promise that I could prove your brother's innocence. But I can try."

Shelly smiles a small one. "That's all I'm asking for," she says, shoving the file into Chloe's hand. "I've collected information on Ramon's death."

"You want us to keep this?"

She gestures a dismissive wave. "Take it. Those are copies of my notes."

"You have any ideas who would want to frame your brother?"

"Try Philip Smoak," Shelly suggests, then leaves the Journalism Club. Barely looking back at Chloe.

With that, Chloe Decker has a new mystery to solve. Time to bust out her 'Mystery Board' from underneath her bed and get her Veronica Mars thinking cap on. She has a name to clear out. And a jailed student to set free.


	11. The Counsellor's In

Changing jobs at the peak of her career isn't what Linda Martin pictured herself to be in five years after graduating college. It's just that one minor blip and she's fired from her cosy job. Okay, not exactly a _small_ blip—apparently insulting her boss to stick his dick to his ass counted as ground of dismissal from the practice.

The only job opening available, Linda took the offer without reading the fine print.

Here she is now. Moved back to the hometown she avoided since getting out in high school. Stuck in a high school known for all the wrong things. Saddled with the title 'guidance counsellor' to play therapy with the students. Terrific.

Principal Valdez had five students involved with an attempted murder by a fellow student's stepdad to undergo mandatory therapy session. In order to satisfy the PTA Committee's demand to ensure the safety and mental health of their children. Or something along that line.

So far, she had interviewed the three out of the five students. They had varying degrees of issues Linda could help with. Decker isn't traumatized at all. Lopez is in mourning period for her wrecked car. Espinoza wouldn't admit that he has trouble with imagining people wanting to drive him off the road.

But the final two students?

They're putting up a unique challenge.

The student sits on the couch. Her spine straight. Shoulders squared. Her greyish eyes staring at Linda, unblinking. Her lips pressed into a flat line. Her face, an unreadable mask. Her hems of floral sundress splay across her thighs, arrange artfully like she's a portrait came to life.

Except there's a peculiar air to her stillness. A sense of detachment from everything—or anything, radiating from the unmoving student.

Linda dealt with problematic patients before. From disruptive behaviour down to uncooperative and questionable conducts, from teenagers to adults to the elderly. All sort of characters ever committed to getting therapy, either in accordance to their will or against it.

Mazikeen Smith is _certainly_ different.

"So, Mazikeen. That's unusual name," Linda tries, staring at the student.

Mazikeen's brow slightly arches in response. Her lips are still sealed shut. Her expression blank.

"That's Jewish, am I right?" Linda suggests.

Again, no answer.

"So, that's a no-yes? I'll assume that's a yes," Linda says, answering her own question.

She's young—from the sundress on her lithe form, to the sensible black boots she has on, to the unlined and blemish-free face. But youth eludes Mazikeen in a way Linda has yet to pinpoint. She has a face that earns trust without her exerting an effort to secure it. Yet everything about her makes Linda flinch in fear, makes her skin crawl with distrust.

Her eyes trail after Linda, as Linda crosses the room, towards the huge filing cabinet lining the wall. Mazikeen's eyes are grey, like dark clouds before the coming of a thunderstorm. It's guarded but forceful. Those eyes reaffirm Linda's conflicted suspicion on Mazikeen.

Linda runs her fingers through the cabinet file, until she sees Smith, M. Taking the file out, she returns to her chair. Sitting across from the girl. Legs crossed, Linda glances down at her file, skimming through Mazikeen's background.

Single mother working abroad. Involved in a horrific car accident at a young age, and left side of her face suffered paralysis. Linda notes the plastic surgery restored symmetrical to her face—almost flawlessly. Linda wouldn't know of the paralysis, until she read it.

Currently she's living with another student whose parents are working overseas. Nothing to pinpoint an abusive childhood—or abnormal events that could shape her into psychologically damaged girl.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Still doesn't explain all these uneasy vibes Linda's getting from Mazikeen.

Her musing cut short by the sudden alarm blaring from her phone. Linda picks up the phone, silencing the alarm. She sets it back to her desk. One hour went by quickly despite the silence.

"Well, _that_ concludes our session for today," Linda chirps, mustering a jovial tone. She finds being friendly thaws the walls erected by her patients faster than she could with a neutral expression.

Mazikeen gathers her things off from the floor. Slings the strap across her shoulder, she stands to her feet. Opens her pace towards the door, her hand hangs over the doorknob and she turns to face Linda.

"Am I cleared?" Mazikeen questions, her words coming out like distorted vowels. Her accent sounds as if Linda's listening to several continents talking, colliding at the same time, masking its actual origin.

"Not quite," is all Linda says, not 'I haven't figure your issue yet'.

"Same time, next week?"

"You can drop by anytime."

Mazikeen leaves her office, without any parting words.

Linda sighs.

[She _loves_ her new job. She loves her _new_ job. She has _bills_ to pay. A _temperamental_ cat to maintain and keep happy. She can't be fired after the last disaster. She _needs_ money.]

* * *

LUX Club isn't in business during the weekdays. The school barely uses the gym for sports—unless it's that annual fitness examination. It provides a temporary reprieve for them. Rare solitude to be themselves.

Allows her to be Mazikeen of the Lilim. Mazikeen, the faithful servant. Mazikeen, the 'supposed' consort. Instead of Mazikeen Smith, student of Vertigo High.

She enters the gym—in time to catch the soft but fluttery tones of Franz Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, quickly building into rapid and energetic melody. It descends into an erratic movement of high pitches as Lucifer's hands fly over the keys and dwindling into sombre and manic tune.

The music dies as she reaches the stage. He slides off from the piano chair, walks down to the gym floor. He stops short at Mazikeen, tilting his head sideways. "So, I missed you during lunch," Lucifer says. His rosy lips softens to a convivial smile, his eyes linger on the mangled part of her face.

"I had to attend an appointment," Mazikeen simply replies, matching the smile on his with her own.

They stride, side by side, towards the office at the back of the gym. She opens the door, he enters and she closes it behind her.

Lucifer Morningstar breaks out two metallic flasks from the darkly varnished mahogany desk. He hands one over her and takes a sip from his drink. "They got us an actual therapist, I see. How was your therapy session then? Learnt anything _useful_ about yourself?"

"Absolutely illuminating," she says, loaded with sarcasm. "You should try attending one." Mazikeen catches the strong whiff of tequila. She swallows several sips of tequila, then closes the flask.

"Wasting an hour to talk about feelings is not the reason we attend school," he scoffs, his forehead wrinkling in distaste. He leans back into the black swivel chair, stretches his legs over the desk. Folds his arms across his chest.

Mazikeen shrugs. "It's mandatory, after the debacle with Delilah's killer. We need to keep up with appearances," she states the obvious.

"There is nothing to talk about," Lucifer counters, his jaw muscles clench briefly and a smile slithers to his beautiful face, "I don't lie, Mazikeen. You know that already, don't you?" He wiggles his eyebrows seductively—in a way he's both playful and serious.

"Unfortunately, I do." She grins, lifts a brow at Lucifer. "Then don't talk. Just like I did."

"I'll think about it," he murmurs, steepling his fingers together.

In Lucifer's vocabulary, it hardly amounts to a definite 'yes'.

"As you say, My Lord."


	12. Deal With The Devil

Reading the Gordon Kaluta case file takes only half an hour. Especially with Dan preoccupied mentoring Stephen, Chloe's free to discuss the case with Ella sans any Dan's interferences. Shelly's impressive—that she provided them enough material that Chloe feels she knows Gordon inside out.

Gordon Kaluta was a year younger. Lives with his sister, Shelly, and an uncle. Moved here about three years ago. Part of the perpetually losing football team. Occasionally on loan to the basketball team.

"So, this guy supposedly _killed_ Ramon Valdez?" Ella questions, looking up from the paper at Chloe.

Chloe nods. " _Strangled_ Ramon with his bare hands. Both were intoxicated," she reads off from the file.

Gordon doesn't stand out much. Had a couple strikes for lewd comments and truancy—no violence whatsoever. He was also a member of the LUX Club. Huh. She didn't see that LUX Connection.

She seems to be a magnet for cases with people of LUX. Be it, Lucifer Morningstar, Mazikeen Smith or the late Delilah McCord. And now, Gordon Kaluta.

"There were no other suspects?" Ella asks, munching a bite off her chicken sandwich.

She spreads the papers around the table. Sifts through it until she finds a newspaper clipping of the incident. "Officially, no. Considering the crime was deemed as involuntary manslaughter. No one was there except them both. Not to mention, he was hammered that night."

Ella rubs her neck, "So, why are we investigating this?"

"His sister doesn't believe he did it. Saying he might talk big, act macho but not violent. Oh, and I quote 'dumb as brick'. But—"

"Wait, his sister called him 'stupid'?" Ella cuts her easily off, "But he's in the Academic Decathlon team. Or rather was."

"He was?"

Ella nods. "Yup. His sister also included a list of the Academic Decathlon team members. Gordon's name was there, as well as Philip Smoak." Tapping at one of the papers, she passes the list to Chloe.

"Philip Smoak?"

"Yup. He's the leader now, replacing Ramon Valdez after he died."

"Well, that's the guy Shelly told us to check. You know him?"

"Philip? He was Ramon's best friend. Other than that, not much. The Aca-Decathlon team is very tight-knit. If you're not in the team, they won't spare you a time."

The list isn't long—just six names. Two names are out; one jailed and the other dead. The remaining are long-time members since they established the team. There's a recruitment flyer peeking out from between the papers.

Ella points her sandwich at her. Cocking her head sideways, a brow raised. "You got that look on your face that says 'you have a plan'. Spill it out."

The minimum number of the team is six. She needs to get close to Philip Smoak. That's her chance. She'll be part of the team. Easy.

Tugging the corners of her lips is a smile, Chloe holds up the pink flyer at Ella. "This."

"You want to join them? Like you're sure about this?"

Chloe understands Ella's apprehension. After that one colossal dumb idea with Mister Gilbert—and Ella's beloved car was the unforeseen collateral damage—Ella's less receptive to any of Chloe's ideas.

"Why not?" Chloe says, eyeing the flyer's requirement. Seems easy enough.

"They're pretty strict. Your GPA has to be 3.5 before they even consider your application. Believe me, I tried before when I first started out. Unless," Ella's voice trails off. She pulls her laptop close, wiping breadcrumbs against a napkin.

Her only idea being put to bed before it could even bloom. Her score betrayed her. Never had she thought one day, having an excellent grade will help or break her case. Like now. Damn it.

"Unless what?" Chloe says, drinking down her coffee.

Ella works on the keyboard, clacking away and shifts her attention back to Chloe. "Unless you get Lucifer Morningstar to join on your behalf."

Chloe nearly spits out her coffee at Ella. " _Him_? As in Prada suit-wearing, Valentino loafers' fanatic, smug teenager with a devil's name."

"Yup. He's actually smart. With average GPA score of 3.89."

Chloe opens her mouth to reply, then closes it. She blinks twice. Lets that realisation—of Lucifer Morningstar _possibly_ a bonafide genius—sinks in. "Are you serious?"

Ella snorts, faux-derisively. " _No_."

"How did you know this?"

Ella shrugs her shoulders, like it's not a big deal of what she says next. "Hacking into the school's student database isn't hard if you have the right codes."

"Damn."

"Exactly."

She can't seem to avoid getting a case without Lucifer Morningstar being attached to it in some ways. If Ella's right, Chloe's GPA could barely qualifies for the recruitment. She's not under 2.99, but not higher than 3.10 either.

[Somehow, going to Lucifer Morningstar to help with her new case feels like Chloe's making a deal with the devil. Even though, it's for a good cause. Now, she has to 'girl' up and march to Lucifer and get him to say 'yes' by any means necessary.]

* * *

Mazikeen isn't surprise to see Chloe Decker rapping her knuckles against the gym's door. In fact, Mazikeen thinks, she has an unhealthy obsession with LUX Club.

"Hey, Maze—" Chloe stutters, with a smile that seems strained on her face. She quickly amends, "—ikeen. Mazikeen. So, is Lucifer around?" She cranes her neck, trying to look pass Mazikeen's shoulders.

Mazikeen doesn't disturb Lucifer if he wishes not to. Not without a good reason. And Chloe Decker doesn't measure up for their definition of 'immediate action'. She utters, "Is he anticipating your arrival?"

"I don't think so," Chloe replies, without letting Mazikeen getting a word in, "I really need to see him. Like right now. You see, I got this—" She rambles on, trying to push her way into gym.

The mortal doesn't budge Mazikeen from her ground. This is child's play. She will not tire easily.

Chloe grunts, attempting to shove Mazikeen—with her full weight on Mazikeen, she sidesteps to allow the blonde entry to the gym. Chloe stumbles on her footing, nearly plants her face on the polished gym floor.

Mazikeen meets curious luminescent ochre eyes. A ghostly smirk plays on her lips. "We have a visitor," she announces, closes the door behind her.

"Yes, indeed we do," Lucifer opens, his lips twitching into a wide smirk.

Chloe quickly stands to her feet. Dusting dirt off from her thighs, she tosses a look over her shoulder at Mazikeen. Flips her hair at Mazikeen, before walking up to Lucifer and whispers, "Can we talk in private?"

Lucifer eyes Chloe with interest. Both hands stuff in his trousers' pockets. "Why all the sudden request of privacy? There are no secrets between Mazikeen and I, don't be shy to tell us. However, let's have a talk in the office."

Mazikeen walks ahead of them. Prepares soda for Chloe and the usual non-alcoholic Chardonnay White Wine for Lucifer. Sets the drinks on the desk, then she stands next to the cabinet, against the wall. Mazikeen cracks Sun Tzu's Art of War open and read. Not a single sound made—no one will notice her except when she moves. She does not breathe.

"So, to what we owe your sudden presence here?" questions Lucifer, motioning at the newly added chair. He takes his place at the swivel chair, sips from his white wine.

Chloe forces a nervous smile on her face. Her hand absentmindedly gesturing in the air. "There's a case I'm working on now."

He lift both brows at her. His lips, a flat line. His displeasure shimmering beneath his lazy façade. "And are you here to _accuse_ me of yet another crime?"

" _No_ ," she protests too quickly. Tips of Chloe's ears turning a bright shade of red. She blows a noisy breath out. "It's about Gordon Kaluta."

Lucifer shakes his head lightly. "Gordon Kaluta? Doesn't ring a bell."

Chloe describes Gordon to jog his memory. Mazikeen remembers Gordon well—unkempt black hair, dark rings underneath his eyes and has an uncouth mouth. It's been a while since Mazikeen seen him around LUX. Mazikeen flips a new page on her book.

"Ah, yes. _Him_. I presume he's dead, seeing how you have acquire a habit to march straight to LUX in the event of any death in this school."

"What? No, he's _not_ dead," Chloe snaps, "He's alive. In jail." She pauses, inhales deeply. "In case you haven't notice, deaths at Vertigo High always seemed to be connected to LUX Club."

"Coincidence," Lucifer simply answers.

"Very convenient to be coincidences," Chloe snorts, crossing her arms defiantly. She closes her eyes. Then rushes her words in a single breath, "I-I'm here to ask for your help. I _need_ you to be part of the Academic Decathlon team." Looking physically ill, as she mentions the words 'help' and 'need' together.

He mulls her words over in a few seconds. He swirls his glass in a clock-wise movement, languid.

"So, what do you say?" Chloe asks, hope swimming in her blue eyes. It's a pity to see that hope crushed.

Knowing his answer before it leaves his throat, half of a smirk twisting Mazikeen's lips. His deep voice mutters, "My answer is no, Decker."

Chloe jumps to her feet. Her eyes widen in exasperation. Nearly spills the soda on her pants. "Why?"

Lucifer shrugs. "Why should I?"

"B-but he's part of your LUX family!" Chloe rebukes—it's a flimsy excuse. Lucifer would never buy such reason. Appealing to compassion he doesn't have, that's bound to fail.

"Whether he's a patron or a member of the LUX Club, it is not my concern."

With that, Chloe storms off from the office. Not before she finishes her drink. Noticing Mazikeen standing at the wall, Chloe thanked her for the drink and slammed the door behind her.

He glances up from his glass, speaks into the white wine. "I can see the disapproval written on your face, Mazikeen. Do speak up your mind."

She closes her book, slips it back into her bag. Mazikeen moves her head from side to side. Sets her eyes on the flame-haired angel. "There's nothing to say."

"Come on, Mazikeen. You know I value your opinion above everything else," he replies, soft and tender, armed with his charming grin. "Why should I involve myself with the human's affair?"

"You are fond of this school," she offers.

Lucifer deflects, "The school ranks the worst among all public schools in the entire state."

"Then you are fond of LUX. Chloe Decker's death will ensure the closing down of this school. And this school is the only one that allows us almost freely reign over its students. Without the School Board poking too close to the nature of the LUX Club and its patrons."

She adds, "And this provides you a valid reason to prolong your avoidance with the therapist."

He sighs—for show. But a smile slithers onto his face, brief before it fades. "You make a _compelling_ argument, Mazikeen."

"You asked for my honest opinion," she says, grinning.

"I did. Anything else?" Lucifer quizzes, lighting a cigarette between his fingers.

"I will say, I somewhat miss him working at the LUX. Good workers are hard to come by these days."

"Very well then, relay to Miss Decker that I will be on board for her plans to liberate the framed student and find the real killer."


	13. Operation Kill Phil

Chloe had it all figure out. The first part of her plan aptly titled 'Operation Kill Phil'—which has nothing to do with a literal killing of Philip Smoak, but she watched Kill Bill the night before and found the pun too good to pass up—was to get Lucifer into the team. Chloe acting as his personal assistant, goes where her boss goes. Thus allowing her to get close to the Aca-Decathlon team without needing to take the exams. And risk being rejected.

From there, it's all about getting to know Philip Smoak. To investigate if he truly has a motive to kill Ramon. Philip comes from the subset of people that could kill undetected. It's terrifyingly creepy and scary, just thinking about Philip or anyone from the Aca-Decathlon team is capable of being a serial killer.

Lucifer didn't even need audition for a spot. He's given a special pass. A spot on the team secured by his grade and name. All he did really, was to show his face at Philip. Philip offers his hand, they shake and Lucifer's a member.

[Smooth sailing, isn't it? Think again. She's going to regret this partnership with Lucifer Morningstar. Chloe can feel it in her guts.]

Philip Smoak isn't far off from the good-looking scale. An inch shy off the six feet mark. Slender but muscular built. Curly blonde hair and a pair of brown eyes. Wears his polo t-shirt tucked around his waist, his shoes are expensive suede and his pants are spotless clean.

Lucifer's still miles ahead in the handsome department—given that he wears tailored suit for goodness's sake. Despite the rather unfortunate and recent choice to dye his hair platinum blond. Not that it matters.

Philip carves a pleasant smile on his face. "And who is she?"

Before Chloe could reply, Lucifer interrupts, "No one of importance."

That son of a bitch.

Philip turns to Chloe, studying her for a moment. "Right. If you want to join the Academic Decathlon team, please leave your application here. And the exams will be administered shortly," Philip announces, all formal.

"Oh, she's not applying to be a member," interjects a familiar voice. "She's here as the 'study buddy'. You guys need an extra person to deal with the menial tasks while you prepare for the competition."

"Ah, Shelly. She comes with your recommendation?"

Shelly glances at Chloe, sneaks a fast wink at her. "Yeah. What do you say, Philip? You don't have a study buddy since I left."

Philip seems to consider Shelly's words. Then nods, "Fine. What's your name?"

"Chloe Decker," she supplies.

"Your first task to make sure Lucifer Morningstar gets what he wants. That should be easy, right?" Philip makes a shooing motion at her, then points at Lucifer. "Off you go."

She stalks off to find that bastard. Chloe's going to give him a piece of her mind. Finds him at the registration desk, chatting with Shelly. Catches snippets of their conversation.

"Did she send you here, Spera?" Lucifer questions, raising a brow at her.

Shelly shrugs and smirks. "I wish I could kiss and tell. But my lips are sealed. I'm sorry."

"Are you going to childmind me, then?"

Shelly snorts. "You? Nope. You can take care of yourself. I'm here to make sure someone gets the girl into the team. I have to fly. I'm needed elsewhere."

By the time she reaches the desk, Shelly already left. Lucifer's standing by the desk, overlooking the applications. Chloe latches at his forearm, yanking him to a corner.

"What the _freaking_ hell, Lucifer?" Chloe screeches, "You're supposed to stick to the script, remember? When anyone ask, I'm your PA. We went over this three times!"

"I agreed to assist you in all of your plans to catch the villain, except declaring you as my personal assistant. If there is such position, it's not yours," he counters, his voice monotonous and cold. His icy electric blue eyes glowering at her.

Chloe won't lie. His reply freezes her tongue, twists her frustration into dread. Punches the air out from her lungs. The awareness of him towering over her frame serves to breed terror in her veins. She releases her grip of his forearm.

"N-next time, when you don't agree to some part of my plans, t-tell me. So I can work something out to your liking," she retorts, hoping he wouldn't notice the slight tremble in her voice.

"Now, you're in the team as you wanted. Shouldn't you endear yourself to Philip if you want to learn the true him?" Lucifer says.

"I'm not the only one who has to do the sucking up to him," she fires back, "You're supposed to be his new best friend."

For a fleeting moment or two, Chloe's desire to clout him with a frying pan returns.

But when he does that thing—half of his face curling into a playful smile. "As a matter of fact, I believe I'm on the path to becoming one," he replies, in a deep and smooth like silk voice. That sexy British accent.

Her anger disappears quickly than a train losing its steam. And her knees almost buckle a little. She rolls her eyes.

"Whatever."

* * *

Like she said, the minute Lucifer derailed her from being his PA, the further she slides down the proximity scale to Philip.

The status of a "study buddy" has Chloe running around the club—fetching test papers, checking out heavy textbooks, preparing coffee—with no time to chat with the other members.

Fortunately, that doesn't stop Chloe from gathering the necessary information about them. She has to at least know what they like, so she doesn't blow her chances with them. But when she's there in the room, she's practically invisible to them. Until the moment of need arises and then everybody knows her name.

The newest recruit via the old fashion way—multitude exams done and graded—is German exchange student, Ludwig Hasse. The only one who actually smiles at Chloe. Always on his tablet, reading comics. Doesn't talk much. When he does, it's in German.

The most senior members, aside from Philip, are couple Mark Milligan and Gina Godfrey. Chloe tends to find them in two moods; either kissing each other on the verge of having sex on the study table or they barely look at each other, too focus on studying.

Laura Chang has earphones on. She tends to hum and sometimes outright sings as she studies. When she's not hitting the books, she's consumed with arts and crafts.

Dinesh Vickneswaran seems to be always missing from the study table. Instead, he hovers around the refreshment table, searching for snacks. He rarely talks, since he's too busy munching on food.

Chloe's amazed by their collective ability to devour the refreshment in matter of minutes.

This is the third time Chloe refills the bowl with potato chips. Dinesh's already at the table, eyeing the food with interest. He's alone. Away from the group. Chloe could use this precious moment to subtly conduct an interview.

"You're Dinesh, right?"

Dinesh's head bobs up and down. "And you're the new study buddy," he states, oblivious to Chloe.

"You know Gordon Kaluta?"

Another nod. "Birdbrain Gordon," Dinesh murmurs. A soft chuckle escapes from his lips.

"So, you've been with them before Gordon."

Dinesh makes a non-committal noise, nodding. His eyes darting intensely from the potato chips to tuna sandwiches.

"Dinesh, there you are," Lucifer chimes in, raising his hand high. Dinesh tears his attention from the food to Lucifer. A smile forms on Dinesh's face. Chloe's all forgotten. She's invisible.

"I'm told you have an extensive collection of books on Mesopotamian epics."

Dinesh nods, enthusiastic. "I do," he replies, then frowns, "But it's in my locker. Most of it. I have a few on my desk."

"Then, what are you waiting for, Decker?"

"Huh?" Chloe blurts out, puzzled.

Lucifer tips his chin at the door. One dark brow cockily raised, a smirk resting on his lips. "Didn't you hear Dinesh? His books are in his lockers. As a 'buddy', you're bound—"

"—to gather all the necessary study materials, regardless of my current location," Chloe hisses. She could practically recite the stupid study buddy oath with her eyes close. Lucifer never fails to remind her of her oath.

She _stomps_ out from the study hall, the official club room, towards Dinesh's locker. In her hands, are his locker's combination, the couple's reading list and Laura's hook-up note to the locker next to Dinesh's.

[Stupid oath—it's not even a cool oath. Stupid rules—what kind of club that have not-too bright students as slaves, Chloe certainly feels like one. Stupid Lucifer—for ruining her plans. The things she do for justice.]


	14. Study Buddy's Woes

It's been two days since she infiltrated the Aca-Decathlon team. _Two_ days. Already Chloe wanted to burn the club to the ground. Along with the club and its members, she wants to watch Lucifer Morningstar crispy-fried.

Ella Lopez, the ever patient friend, pats her hands sympathetically. "Don't burn the club down just yet," she pauses, rummaging through the files scattered over her desk. "I managed Gordon's grades for you. He failed a couple of subjects. He's not even above the 2.75 mark," she says, flips to the wanted page and thrusts the file to Chloe.

"He's that bad?" Chloe reads the file. Boy, Ella isn't exaggerating. She could see why Gordon's admission to the club seems impossible. Dinesh's score is exactly 2.99, yet every time he takes the grading exams, he scored higher than the average best, acquiring the golden number of 3.5—Gordon failed _all_ the mock exams.

Ella returns her sight on the laptop, clacking the keyboard. "Yeah. How on earth did he manage to get into the club?"

"That's a good question."

"And I did a little digging into Philip Smoak. He's actually the son of a high profile chemist. His half-siblings won all sort of science-related competitions. Consistently first place."

Chloe looks up from Gordon's grades, staring at Ella. Vertigo High isn't a big school. A decent size school were everyone knows your name—or at least your face. Chloe's new, but she does her best to make sure she memorise her fellow students. "His siblings? How come I never heard of other Smoaks?"

Ella pulls out her phone, scrolling through Google images. She holds her phone, so Chloe could see Philip's half-siblings. Mostly dark-haired, with matching dark green blazers—a local newspaper article about their academic accomplishments.

"Firstly, they're not Smoaks. They took their father's name, Goodwin. Philip and the Goodwins shared a mother, Emily. They're way older than us. Like ten years older. And they don't go to school here. Prep school," Ella explains, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

"Isn't it curious that Philip's here instead of a prep school?" Chloe questions, her fingers tentatively drumming on her chin.

"Give me some time, I'll try to see what I can do on Philip's financial background."

"Whose financial background?" Dan asks, his voice's sudden appearance freezes them for a second.

Chloe's eyes immediately snaps to the door, sees Dan. Ella shuffles the papers and folders into one messy pile and tries to shove all of it into the drawer.

"I asked Ella to come up with a mock financial statements. For Home Econ," Chloe smoothly lies. Ella offers a rapid nod.

Dan narrows his eyes at them both. "Oh."

"So, the newbie?" Chloe prompts, distracting Dan. Allows Ella some precious seconds to successfully slam the drawer close.

"He's really popular with the cheerleaders. I mean, they're organising a mini fashion show for him," Dan replies, envy seeping out from his tone. But his lips quirk slightly upwards, amused.

Ella pipes up, "He got a bunch of girls giving him a fashion show?"

Dan shrugs, chuckling. "Something about wanting him to not miss a thing when it comes to high fashion and all things haute couture."

Chloe's phone buzzes on the table. The notification's header reads STUDY BUDDY alert. Chloe releases a long suffering sigh. "I got to go. The geniuses are beeping for more books."

* * *

Linda Martin can't decide whether Mazikeen Smith is avoiding therapy. Or _secretly_ crying for help.

She comes, without a sound, into Linda's office. Sits on the couch. And stares at the walls, without batting her eyelids. Right on time. Never a second too early, or too late.

"Is there anything exciting today, Mazikeen?" Linda asks, as usual. Her clipboard lays on her lap. Her thumb clicking the pen once. Maybe today will be the day she chips away a bit of Mazikeen's armour.

Mazikeen turns to Linda, shakes her head. The rest of her are rigid. Like a soldier anticipating an attack.

[Or today's the day Linda will _quit_ her 'guidance counsellor' job. And decide a career change. Write that fantasy novel she always wanted but lacked the will power to sit down and type the words.]

Linda tries again, "R-right. So, you want to talk?"

"No."

At least, she's verbally responding to Linda. Rather than having her body speaks for her.

"Do you want to do something while you're here?" Linda asks.

There's no hesitation in her reply, "Yes."

"And that would be," Linda drags the last syllable longer into a question.

One hand reaching into her sling bag, Mazikeen produces several books and her notepad. She gestures at her books; the answer's pretty clear.

It isn't much, but Linda thinks this little detail—that idleness is not one of Mazikeen's traits—is a piece to the puzzle that is Mazikeen Smith.

"Okay, I'm going to leave you and your homework alone," Linda replies, rising to her feet from the armchair. "I'll be here, if you want to talk," she adds.

Mazikeen doesn't avert her gaze from the books.

[Today, Linda Martin returns to her desk, catalogues a new piece of information on Mazikeen to her notepad. She'll stay here, providing guidance to Vertigo High's students—either those who need her or don't—and she'll return to work the next day. She's warming up to her cosy office anyway.]

* * *

"So, I got six books on the exciting times of that crazy Roman dude, more coffee, more chips and more of everything," Chloe announces into the room. Her view partially blocked by the large grocery bag, she shifts her face slightly to the left.

That's strange. Usually they swarm around Chloe even before she has the chance to enter the room. Like hungry smart piranhas. Grabbing the things they requested, without so much thanking Chloe. This time, she makes it all the way to the table. Alone.

"Where's everyone?" Chloe asks, taking out the items from the grocery bag. Tosses a look over her shoulders at the study table. Only Ludwig's there.

"It's alright, Ludwig. You don't need to answer," Chloe says, cutting him off before he tries to speak German.

Ludwig curtly nods, his lips twitching to his usual polite smile. He returns his attention to his tablet. Bobbing his head to his earphones.

Chloe puts all the items back to its appropriate place. Content with the silence.

"Laura's down at the biology lab, replicating a study she read," Gina's sultry voice offers, her breath tickles Chloe's neck.

Chloe flinches, nearly drops one of thick textbooks on her feet. Her heart hammering against her ribcage.

"She will fail, the sooner she realises she's using wrong chemicals," Mark whispers into the shell of her right ear.

Chloe twirls on her feet, facing the couple. Her chin tilting up, to see a two pairs of eyes—of blue and brown—staring at her. Curiosity and mischievous intertwining, shining in those eyes.

It's one thing to have Gina to invade her personal space. It's another when Mark joins along. They're way too close to her face. Like inches away from her lips. Chloe takes several steps back—an arm's length distance. Hugging the books tighter, as if they could shield her from the couple.

Chloe had imagined once on how she'd approach Gina and Mark for an interview. None of those scenarios involved them looming over her. Or cornering her with those predatory looks.

Chloe notices there's a slight resemblance between them and Mazikeen. Not in the sense they looked alike each other. Just that feeling of eerie radiating from them. Okay, appearance wise—they might be a teensy bit similar to the couple—siting firmly above average looks.

Mark Milligan and Gina Godfrey are one of those high school couples that has looks and brains. The students that you don't often find in clubs like the Aca-Decathlon club.

Like Gina, she's all legs and isn't afraid to flaunt her assets; legs and those perky boobs. Curious blue eyes and lustrous dark blonde hair. Smells like a walking and breathing wet teenage boy dream. Not cheap sex, but intoxicating temptation.

Mark is tall and thin without muscle definition to fill out his loose t-shirt. His complexion's paler than white plaster, that his bluish-green veins are prominent on his face and neck. Yet all that veins is working for him—he's attractive in a chemical sense.

Gina smiles, her blue eyes set on Chloe. "Dinesh is down at the cafeteria."

"He'd improved his scores on language, if he keeps himself off from the snack table every once in a while," Mark says, grinning a Cheshire smile.

"But who would compete in the Varsity category if his scores are close to ours," Gina retorts, rhetorical. Her tone, light and teasing.

Mark reaffirms, " _So_ true. He's better than Gordon."

Gina makes a sweeping gaze around the room, then informs, "Philip and Lucifer are working on a science project for the upcoming YIIC."

"The what?"

"Young Innovative Ideas Competition," Mark replies, rolling his eyes.

Chloe read up on the YIIC—pronounced 'yik' by the members—in one of the study buddy manuals. One of the most important competitions that each member must achieved the top 5 to prove their worth in the team and to earn a free weekend in a luxurious spa. To win first place, essentially seals your fate as the Alpha in the group.

Chloe frowns. Damn, Lucifer's advancing faster than she is in Operation Kill Phil. "They're working on a project together? I thought YIIC don't have group category. Only individual ones."

They nod simultaneously. Did Chloe mention how freaky it is to see Gina and Mark are in perfect synch? The _same_ tilt of their head, in the _same_ direction, with the same _sexy_ expressions.

"It was the same with Philip and Ramon—" Gina's voice trails off, fingering her collarbone.

"—back when Ramon's not dead," Mark fs, thumbing his lower lip.

Now, Chloe's getting somewhere. This is it. The opening she needed. The glimpse of the secretive friendship of Ramon Valdez and Philip Smoak. "That they're always working on the same project together?"

Gina answers, "Philip and Ramon were best friends," and pauses.

Mark picks up where her words hang in the air, "But their competitiveness is a whole lot different level than ours."

"Tell me more," Chloe requests, finding herself being drawn closer to them. As in she willingly walks up to them. Eagerly nodding for scraps of information they'd be parting like they're handing out gold bars.

[ _Snap out of it, Chloe_. Don't stare at their lips—or how the lighting makes them even prettier than before. What's wrong with her? Why is she thinking about sex? Goddamnit, she has a crime to solve.]

They exchange looks, then shrug together.

[Nothing sexual about that action—but, but it makes Chloe want to strip her clothes and ask them to have her right now, right here on the study table.]

"They measured their friendship in the number of awards they won. The one with the most awards, is the best among the two. Hence, the leadership of the club should fall to that person."

"That's how this club's politics is run?" Chloe stammers, gulping down her saliva. Her eyes sliding down from Gina's face to her collarbone—Gina has a lovely collarbone.

"It's not perfect. But it works. We don't want the leadership. We just want to be in this club," Mark states, his forehead wrinkling and lips curving into a playful smirk.

[Chloe wonders if his lips would taste the same as Gina's, since they're a couple and spent most of their time latching to each other's embrace. Not that she wants to know. Because, because—that's ridiculous.]

Gina adds, "Not just our club. Ramon and Philip were part of several other clubs. Ramon used to be the president of those clubs. You don't need to be a genius to see that Philip took over all Ramon's positions in their other clubs, including the debate team."

"Do you think that Gordon killed Ramon?" Chloe questions, shaking _those_ thoughts away. She shoots a quick glance at Ludwig. He's now snoring, with his head on his arms. Chloe's the only one feeling antsy at them—whatever's happening with them now.

"He doesn't see eye to eye with Ramon. Thought Ramon was too condescending. Insulted his intelligence more than once," Mark replies, his brown-eyed attention rests on Gina. Runs a hand through his dark chestnut hair.

"Philip's the only reason how he got into the club and why he stayed. Ramon wanted to kick his ass. Ever the peacekeeper between them two," says Gina, shifting her blue—almost purplish—eyes to Mark.

"What about Philip?"

Neither Mark nor Gina responds to Chloe's prompt of an explanation. Instead, Gina eyes Mark, almost hungrily. Mark licks his lower lip in that sensual way—Chloe finds herself blatantly staring. Without shame. The tips of her ears burn bright red. Heat creeping up from her neck to her face. Gina caresses Mark's cheek, runs her fingertips along his jawline.

[That's incredibly hot. It feels like Chloe's watching porn live—except it's not. It's just Gina touching Mark's face. Chloe swears, for a second, she thought Mark's brown eyes turned purple. It's still brown.]

"It takes a lot to piss Philip. Especially the kind of rage needed to kill someone. But who knows? Philip's a private person," Gina mutters.

"Ah, Decker," Lucifer calls out, jerking her out from staring. Chloe turns around to Lucifer motioning at her to come close.

"I need you to run a couple of errands for me. Be discreet, and allow no one to deter you from your task," Lucifer says, passing her a folded piece of paper. Then shoos her out from the room.

Chloe glances down at the list. No books, no materials. Just an instruction to 'look busy and be secretive'. Well now, at least she has time to catch up with her overdue reports.

[Also note to self; never be in the same room with Gina and Mark ever again.]


	15. Patterns and Dinners

Nothing could be more boring than being forced to time the geniuses as they take their mock exams. However, she's the study buddy—tasked with impartiality on grading their paper. Apparently it's one of the many 'sacred' duties of study buddy to monitor the club members when they're in their 'zone'.

After a while, Chloe observes a pattern with them. Dinesh finishes first, hardly checks his answers twice. Laura spends at least half an hour double-checking her works. Lucifer drums his fingers on the table, waiting to pass the time. Gina doodles on her paper. Mark uses his extra time to nap. Ludwig chews on his pencil's eraser. Philip licks his thumb before flipping each page.

Even their scores has a pattern to it. It's not always noticeable. Take chemistry; Philip's the best, Dinesh's the lowest, and Lucifer's third highest. Ludwig needs a little help with his biology.

And she picks up these little facts on them. Like how Gina and Mark excel in history, writing in details that seems plausible. Gina says the ancient text to back it up. If only Chloe could read Hebrew, let alone ancient Hebrew.

Ludwig, despite his limitation in speaking English, easily tackles languages like fish to water. Dinesh is a mathematic expert. Laura has high hopes of making it big as a lawyer, both domestic and international circuit. Philip's extremely proud of his accomplishments in chemistry. Biology and physics are Lucifer's strongest subjects.

When their time's up, she collects the papers. Grades them based on the answer sheets. Dinesh goes straight for the snacks. Mark and Gina discuss their answers. Ludwig takes out his tablet, returns to his comics. Laura plays a quick game of Pokémon on her Nintendo DS. Philip hovers around her. Lucifer's content with sitting in his seat, gazes at the windows—his face unreadable.

The other leaves the club—to freshen their minds up. Their results can wait for tomorrow. They've done tons of these—the excitement of anticipating their scores died out the first three mock exams. All except Philip. Lucifer still has LUX Club to run.

But sometimes, the pattern changes. Lucifer's slowly catching up to Philip's scores for chemistry. Last week, he scored the highest mark for chem. They chalked it up to Lucifer being lucky. After all, Lucifer himself said he based his answers on his gut feeling.

It's been two weeks in a row, Lucifer took over Philip's best score.

"Are you done?" Philip asks, peering over her shoulder.

Chloe nods. "This is the last one," she tells him, tapping on the paper. She sets the papers down on the desk, pushing her chair backwards.

Philip picks the stack up, gripping them tightly. "You've graded everything, just as like in the guidelines we gave you?"

Philip's so touchy—and bossy—when it concerns the grading rules. Chloe resists rolling her eyes. "Yeah."

"Exactly the same?"

" _Yes_."

Chloe gathers her things, and says, "If you don't mind, I want to get home before it's late." She forces a smile, and heads for the door.

She's halfway towards the corridor's end, when she realises she left her water bottle on her desk. Races back to the club. The club's door is partially open. She walks up to the door, hand on the doorknob. Hears stuff crashing against the floor. As if someone grabs the nearest thing they could find and starts throwing them around the room.

Chloe cracks the door slightly open. Sees Philip, his composure cracked, surrounded by fallen test papers.

He stares at his feet—his eyes transfixed to the floor. His face red with anger. He exhales a noisy breath out, collects the scattered papers in eerie calmness. Stacks them nicely on the table.

That answers it. Whether Philip Smoak has enough rage to kill a person. He does indeed—especially chemistry-related.

Her water bottle, she doesn't need it now. Chloe turns her heels away. And leaves in haste, once again.

Philip has the brains to pull off a murder without difficulties. But what are his motives to kill Ramon Valdez? If so, how did he kill Ramon and frame Gordon Kaluta? Chloe need some solid evidence. What's the use of theories but she can't substantiate them?

There must be something in the official reports she missed.

* * *

A speck of dust mots the spoon, Mazikeen thumbs the dust away. Familiar footsteps tapping against the polished mahogany floor, languid and confident. She doesn't avert her gaze, fixes a misplaced silverware on the dining table.

"So, how's the plan to trap the real mastermind coming along?" Mazikeen questions, heading for the wine cabinet. Procures two wine glasses from the shelves. And a bottle of Chateau Margaux circa 2009.

" _Swimmingly_ well," Lucifer sighs, sinking into the dining chair. Props an arm on the table, his palm supporting his chin. He eyes the table brief, and his attention slides from the nape of her neck down to her curving spine. A satisfied smirk sneaks on to his handsome face.

The oven rings, beckoning for their attention. The scent of a well-done steak permeating through the air. Mazikeen pops the wine's cork open, smooth and expertly with her thumb. Fills the wine glasses, full to the brim.

Lucifer gets to his feet, and murmurs, "Allow me."

It's almost like a second nature to her Lilim's temperament; reading Lucifer Morningstar. To know when she could be blunt, to know when not to push her limits with him. And yet, a thousand upon thousand years, he's still an enigma Mazikeen's drawn to and unable to decrypt. All she takes away from him, from her servitude to him; Lucifer Morningstar's a rarity—and an oddity among his angelic siblings, leagues ahead from the demons festering in Hell.

"And yet you're not satisfied," she points out, nonchalantly. She twirls the glass, wine sloshing against the glass's rim in between her fingers. And tastes the red wine on her tongue.

The smirk on his face falters, he shrugs. His silence speaks for itself. Bare-handed, he opens the oven's door, takes out the tray and sets it on the table. Cuts a slice of steak for her. Another for himself.

She cocks her head sideways. "I take it that it's not enough to dazzle the judges?"

Lucifer scoffs, feigning offense at her doubt of his abilities. "Don't be silly, Mazikeen. It has more than enough to impress the judges." He makes his way around the table, placing her plate in front of Mazikeen. Retreats to the other end of the rectangle dining table. He settles on his seat, starts to eat.

"I sense there's a _but_ ," Mazikeen remarks, fingering the appropriate silverware. And cuts her steak into smaller pieces. She sticks her fork into a piece of meat, and chews slowly.

Dinner's a silent affair, for most part. But tonight is a step up from their usual comfortable silence. Mazikeen's words linger in the air, uncertainty hovering around them. With their steaks all consumed, and Lucifer smears his finger through the gravy. Sucks his gravy-stained index finger, and glances at Mazikeen.

"It won't draw him like a moth to flame. It's too mundane. Although what I've prepared will astonish simple-minded folks. Philip Smoak is not part of the 'normal folk' unfortunately," he says, wiping his finger clean with a moist napkin.

She lifts a brow at him, sips the red wine, and replies, "So you're saying you need a little help from the _other_ side," it's not a question, but takes a shape as one anyway.

"I'm not saying anything," Lucifer responds, his forehead creasing. He rubs his chin, lost in his private musing. Reaches for his wine glass, he drains the glass empty. He amends, "But you _may_ have a point. I need something potent, one that does what it's designed to, with no room for misfire."

He gazes into the distance. Red-lined lips curving into a smile. A spark of burgeoning ideas twinkling in his tawny eyes. Dessert's postponed, she supposes. Mazikeen rises from her seat, about to gather the plates.

Lucifer's hypnotic voice of molten lava halts her from her intention to clean up, "Fetch the phonebook, will you?"

She retrieves the 'phonebook'—a grimoire with its spine's stitching loose, the leather cover's cracked and dry with age, and smells faintly of brimstone, dust and tobacco. It isn't large in size, nothing like some spell books you'd see on supernatural TV shows. In fact it could be mistaken for a weathered first edition of some English classics. The 'phonebook' is what it is; except it contains the names of all magic users, of the past, the present and the future.

Mazikeen hands the grimoire to him. Resumes her cleaning routine. Placing the dirty dishes inside the dishwasher, she refills their glasses with Chateaux Margaux—it will be a waste to let good wine grow warm.

"Marvellous," he says, cracking the grimoire open. His lips twitching into a thankful smile, as she hands him his glass.

"I doubt most would want to make deals with the devil. Arabelle Crane isn't answering any of our calls since that angel dust incident," she counters.

A week of coma, or dying, will impede any social interactions they're trying to keep from wilting. Crane's far cheaper than Constantine. One could almost say, Crane might pass herself as Constantine's twin or sister. Less flirty. And reliable—no worries about being screwed by humans, if it's Crane.

He runs a finger through the list, tapping triumphantly at two names. "Perhaps, but Constantine is rather enamoured by you—" Lucifer's voice trails off, the implication's not lost on Mazikeen.

"It's your pants he wanted to get some action with," she retorts, and emphasises, " _first_."

"Tomayto, Tomahto," he motions a free hand, dismissive. "However, your assessment on Constantine isn't far from my own. His tricks could backfire if he tweaks it without my consent or knowledge. I'm thinking of cousins with a penchant for backwards incantations."

Mazikeen fetches the dessert from the fridge. Two slices of Red Velvet should be enough. She returns to the table, cakes in tow. "Does Decker know?"

"She'll only get in the way of things, should she be aware of it," says Lucifer, composes a message to the cousins with similar names—lots of Z's in them—and presses the send button. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he closes the grimoire and pushes it aside.

"You're going to torture a confession out of him?"

"I suspect a boy like him, is impervious to the things of fantastical nature."

"It's going to be hard to sell the idea of Hell then." Mazikeen licks the cream off from the spoon, digs her spoon into the cake, and probes, "And what's the purpose of Decker while you're catching the killer?"

Lucifer bites a mouthful of Red Velvet cake, smudges his upper lip with whipped cream. He shrugs. "She does what she does what, gather the breadcrumbs left by the killer."

"The scuttle work. How _noble_ of you to get her hands dirty," she notes, clucking her tongue in disapproval.

He raises a dark brow at her, tipping his head to a side. "Are you objecting to my methods?"

"Me?" Mazikeen's lips widen to a puckish grin. "Never."


End file.
